


A Different Kind of Knight

by Jenny Lynne (jenny_lynne)



Category: Actor RPF, Leverage RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Action/Adventure, Aliases, Alpha Males, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Mob, Alternate Universe - Related Characters, Angst and Humor, Assassins & Hitmen, Attempted Sexual Assault, BAMF Jensen, Blackmail, Boys Kissing, Broken Bones, Car Chases, Celebrities, Community: spn_j2_bigbang, Conspiracy, Disturbing Themes, Drug Addiction, Drug Cartel, Explosions, F.B.I., Flirting, Gun fights, Hallucinations, Hand-To-Hand Combat, Hostage Situations, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Hitman, Inspired by The A-Team, Kidnapping, Lust at First Sight, M/M, Mercenaries, Minor Character Death, Mission Fic, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Groping, Philanthropy, Physical Abuse, References to Suicide, Rescue, S.W.A.T., Sexual Tension, Withdrawal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-29
Updated: 2012-06-29
Packaged: 2017-11-08 20:09:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 49,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/447037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenny_lynne/pseuds/Jenny%20Lynne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen Ackles, head of one of the world's top highly trained teams of <strike>mercenaries</strike> <strike>security consultants</strike> hostage retrieval specialists in the world, has three rules: never work with the mob, never make promises, and don't let things get personal.</p><p>Eight days ago, world-renowned do-gooder J.T. Clarke disappeared.</p><p>Yesterday, New York mob boss Gerald Padalecki received a message from one of Mexico's most dangerous drug cartels: if his movie star mistress ever wants to see his estranged son again, he'll have to agree to an impossible ultimatum.</p><p>Today, with the first two rules broken, Jensen's team is on their way to Mexico.  Something about those dimples gives Jensen a really bad feeling about the third...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Maybe It's the Only Way

**Author's Note:**

> **artist master-post:**[mangacat201](http://mangacat201.livejournal.com/67725.html) [download trailer](http://www.mediafire.com/?sgzib3ii1um3n5h%22)  
>  (Seriously, you _must_ watch the trailer first!!!)
> 
>  **betas & cheerleaders: **  
> my mom _(who is oddly supportive of boy-kissing, even if she wants to know when I'm going to write some het)_
> 
> Sue/candygramme _(who pushed me every step of the way, fought the typo demons for me, and helped me with many of the OCD tendencies which might have blockaded the creative process altogether.)_
> 
>  Fanmix Soundtrack available: [here](http://jennylynne.exit-23.net/fanfic/download/adkokfanmix.zip)
> 
>  **disclaimer:** I only wrote what my Pug told me to; none of it is real, except, of course, for what is. Any characters resembling known personalities are, of course, accidental, but if they had been planned, they would have been done so using the J2 six-degrees of separation game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** Please note that I feel the prologue contains one of the two most triggery scenes in a story with dark themes. Only if you have triggers that would keep you from reading, do I recommend you read the spoilers, however. That's why they are called _spoilers_.
> 
>  **Spoilers:** minor character suicide; hints of domestic violence and stalking

# Prologue: Maybe It's the Only Way

  


_Now I ain't sayin' it's right or it's wrong_  
But maybe it's the only way.  
Talk about your revolution  
It's Independence Day.  
\-- Martina McBride, Independence Day

## Eight Years Ago  
New York City 

Early responders had cleared all the other floors. Now, it was all up to them -- big damn, unsung, adrenaline junkie heroes. 

In the stairwell, Sgt. Fillion ordered Tudyk and Baldwin to head to the roof for a rappel-and-flashbang. A check-in with Torres indicated she was nearly in place in the building across the street. As usual, she was all business, all crisp yes-sir's and proper terminology. Tudyk rolled his eyes. Baldwin grinned and made kissy faces as they jogged up the next flight of stairs.

Jensen Ackles felt the adrenaline pumping through his system. Not even winded by the run up ten flights with the Kevlar and the tactical gear, He was in better shape now than he'd been in high school. After all, his morning routine consisted of an extreme caffeine fix, followed by a quick three mile run and a strict calisthenics program in addition to the regular team workouts. 

Standing on either side of the stairwell door, Fillion and Ackles each took a deep, steadying breath. They met each other's eyes. Fillion nodded for him to proceed. 

Pistol-gripped shotgun raised and at the ready, Ackles pushed open the door. The hall was empty. Jerking left, then right, he checked for anyone or anything that shouldn't be there. Right behind him, Fillion worked as the perfect counter-balance. Mentally, the soundtrack to _S.W.A.T._ measured his movements down the hall, though Ackles would never admit that to his teammates. 

Technically, Fillion should be down on the ground, negotiating with the hostage-taker, and Barnes should be here, but the hostage-taker had rejected phone negotiations. To make her point, she'd shoved a monster CRT monitor through a tenth floor window with the phone wrapped around it by its chord. Fillion didn't believe there was a hostage he couldn't rescue. So Barnes was covering the exits with Unit B and Fillion was taking his second chance.

They pushed open the door to the company's offices. A receptionist saw the men with the big guns and ducked behind her Plexiglas cubicle walls. Ackles gestured to her to exit behind them. Like a police officer directing traffic, Fillion waved people in open cubicles toward the protection of offices with doors. 

In his ear, Ackles heard Torres say she had "eyes on the target." Always eager for action, Baldwin reported he and Tudyk were in place.

Fillion and Ackles reached the final door. Fillion gave the order through the comm. 

Tudyk and Baldwin kicked at the broken window, shattering the rest inward, and tossed in the flashbang grenades. The resulting, smoke, burst of light, and noise disoriented the occupants. 

Fillion and Ackles broke through the door. As they entered, Ackles called out, "New York P.D. E.S.U. Drop your weapons!" With their visor shields giving them a slight advantage, the two Emergency Service Unit officers trained their weapons on the high-strung woman with the hostage and the gun. 

An office mate had identified the hostage as Summer Glau. She had a restraining order against her ex-girlfriend Eliza Dushku. Emergency Services had verified their identities via DMV photos in the mobile HQ. 

Eliza, a tough tomboy-type dressed in a leather jacket and biker boots, whipped around a Beretta without any definitive aim and demanded, "No! NoNoNo! Get out! Get Out!" Her long caramel-brown hair flew wildly about her shoulders. Her arm squeezed tighter around Summer's waist, causing the wispy woman to gasp between sobs.

"Eliza?" Fillion replied calmly. "Hey, I'm the guy on the phone. Can I call you, Eliza? My name's Nate."

"I told you, this is a personal matter," Eliza informed Fillion, her voice whiskey rough, and not all of it from the gas or the panic. "You need to leave _now_."

Summer, who was also a caramel-brunette, peeked over her shoulder at Eliza, then at the officers. Fearful they would do just that, she frantically shook her head, dark brown eyes wide.

"We can't do that, Eliza," Fillion stated, eyes on the gunman -- gun-woman -- but tone and words to calm Summer.

"I'm not going to say it again!" Eliza insisted, stomping her foot.

"Shoot her!" Summer pleaded her child-like voice raw and desperate. "Please, just shoot her!" She struggled against Eliza's hold. The two women were the same height and probably the same age, which wasn't more than 20, but where Summer was petite and dainty, like a dancer, Eliza was solid and athletic, like a fighter. 

Eliza pushed her gun arm over Summer's mouth just as she took a deep breath for more screaming. She gagged on Eliza's leather-jacketed bicep. Eliza shushed her soothingly. "It's okay," she coaxed. "It's okay, baby. Just stay calm. It's all going to be okay. I promise, baby." She stroked Summer's long, straight hair as if she were a nervous puppy. Finally, Eliza brought her arm down to let Summer breathe. Eliza glared at Fillion. "You're scaring her." Her light brown eyes flickered over to Ackles, who remained motionless, weapon raised, eyes assessing the situation. "I've got everthing under control now. Both of you need to get out of here before this gets worse." She moved her gun arm back so she could cover them. 

"Hey, Eliza?" Fillion said with enough quiet casualness in his tone to make the woman meet his eyes. "It's already worse\u2026Look, you seem like a reasonable girl-"

"Yeah, I _am_ reasonable, and she's safe now; now that I'm here to take care of her. So _leave_." She licked her lips as she glanced at Ackles. " _Go_ , or we're gonna have bigger problems." She looked back at Fillion expectantly. "What don't you understand?"

Summer sniffled as she took big gasping breaths, fingers clutching at the arm wrapped around her.

"Hey, I get it...love can make you crazy sometimes," Ackles said in an attempt to help.

"Ackles," Fillion warned. "Eliza, you _know_ we can't leave. _Right?_ You know how this works. So let's talk about what we _can_ do." Ackles knew that continuing to address her by name each time was an attempt to move her focus away from Summer to her personal self. 

"I'm going to count to three," Eliza said, moving Summer away from them. Summer squealed and squirmed as Eliza's fingers gripped her tighter.

"Summer, stop moving," Fillion ordered, firmly, but eerily calm.

"One-"

Fillion clicked three times in rapid succession on a remote signal device set to a channel, which only Torres could hear. He barely finished pressing the button the last time, and Eliza was still shouting, "Two," when the bullet hit the wall a quarter of an inch from the crazy gun-woman's head in the space her eye had just been a half a second ago. 

Eliza pushed Summer toward the wall behind her, but in the chaos, Ackles rushed forward. He body checked Eliza into that same wall. He kneed the hand with the gun, breaking Eliza's fingers and forcing her to drop it. 

Fillion, grabbed Summer's wrist and swung her away from the fight to the other side of the room.

Ackles yanked Eliza's hands behind her back and began to cuff her. He glanced through the window to the building across the street and said, "A little to the right next time, huh?"

The dark-skinned, athletic sniper, the only woman on their team, grinned at him from her nest though he couldn't see her. She mock-saluted. "If Fillion didn't get them monologuing like a Bond villain-" she said into her comm.

Fillion swept up the dropped weapon in one hand. As he turned to check on Summer he felt his own service pistol slip from his hip holster. Surprised, he spun to face the now-armed hostage. "Summer," he coaxed as calmly as he could manage.

"Don't you touch her!" Eliza threatened over her shoulder, squirming in Ackles' grip.

Fillion raised the once-abandoned weapon, taking aim at the girl who only seconds ago had been the hostage. "It's okay. It's okay, Summer. We're taking her away."

Ackles held Eliza against the wall with his weight and one arm. Meanwhile, he drew and aimed his own service weapon with his other. He'd read about Stockholm's, been to a seminar on hostages who helped their hostage-takers. The way she'd been acting didn't fit, and he didn't understand. She still looked just as panicked and terrified, and he didn't feel right aiming his gun at her.

"Get out of the way," Summer said, pointing the gun at Ackles and Eliza, ignoring Fillion.

"Summer, listen to me," Fillion said.

"You can't let her live," she pleaded. "You don't know what she is!"

"What do you mean, Summer?" Ackles asked, trying to use the same calm tone Fillion always used, ignoring how his heart was pounding in his chest. He could hear the blood pumping through his body triple time. "What is she?"

"Death. She's the Angel of Death. Don't you understand? Wherever she goes, she leaves a wake of misery and ruined lives. She has to die," she sobbed, her face twisting into something tormented and haunted. " _Please_ , just get out of the way!" Desperation dripped from every syllable.

"Summer, it's _okay_ now. Just breathe," Fillion said, remaining calm, never wavering. 

"You don't understand! You can't stop it!" Her eyes were still on Ackles and Eliza. She never looked at Fillion, and Ackles could see the terror, the absolute conviction, the look of desperate determination. Ackles knew right then that there was no way this could end well. This was one situation where Fillion could not prevent the inevitable.

"I do understand," Fillion assured her. "I do understand."

But Ackles knew from the expression on her face there was no way that they could possibly understand.

Summer took two big gulping breaths. Her eyes widened as if she were watching her short life pass before her eyes. Maybe it was. Maybe she was seeing how things would play out if both she and Eliza walked out of that office alive, and since Ackles wouldn't move out of the way, she only had one other choice. 

Ackles realized what she was going to do. He could see it in her eyes. "No!"

She moved the gun so it was aimed at her own head.

"Summer, No!" Eliza cried, agony ripping through her voice as if someone were skinning her alive. She tripled her efforts to push free, almost succeeding.

Fillion tried to pull her arm away, but Summer pulled the trigger before he reached her. 

Summer was the first hostage in Fillion's career as hostage negotiator and team leader that he\u2019d lost. 

"You bastards!" Eliza wrenched away from the wall and turned to face the deathly still form of Summer on the floor. The blood intermingling with the peaceful expression stunned her into a moment of silence.

As if the pause button had been depressed, Fillion fell to his knees beside Summer, reaching futilely for something to press against the wound. "Paramedics -- 10th floor," he stated in his ever calm voice. If Ackles didn't know him, he'd wouldn't have caught the slight tremor there.

"You killed her! Bastards! I was taking care of her and you killed her!" Eliza screamed, wanting to claw their eyes out, but held back by the handcuffs. "You'll pay! I'll make you pay!"

Ackles slammed Eliza not too gently back against the wall. "Gonna need an escort here," he mumbled into his comm. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to speak to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be appointed for you. Got that?" Ackles wasn't watching his prisoner. His eyes were on the victim they couldn't save, the victim who'd been dead before they even arrived.

As a police officer with over 6 years on the force, she wasn't the first person Jensen Ackles had seen die. She wasn't even the first suicide he'd ever come across; however, she was the first victim he'd felt had been wronged by everyone else doing everything right.

* * *

Eliza Dushku's bail was paid within minutes of her arraignment. The F.B.I. arrived several hours later.

Within 24 hours of her arrest, Eliza Dushku vanished, and Sgt. Nathan Fillion's E.S.U team was never the same.


	2. Chapter One: Just Your Average Ordinary Everyday Superhero

# Chapter One: Just Your Average Ordinary Everyday Superhero

_I'm just your average ordinary everyday superhero  
Trying to save the world, but never really sure  
I'm just your average ordinary everyday superhero  
Nothing more than that, that's all I really am  
\-- Smashmouth,_ Everyday Superhero

## Present Day  
CareCorp H.Q., L.A. 

"Back away from the computer."

Startled, Jay yanked his fingers away from the keyboard like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. From beneath untamed bangs, he peeked over the monitor at the two women in the office doorway. His sheepish embarrassment slowly melted into frustration as he straightened on the crutches. "I was just gonna check my e-mail." He shouldn’t have to defend himself. He was the boss.

Frowning, his personal assistant, Alona Tal, shook her head. "Uh-uh." She stood with her arms folded across her slender chest, one leg thrust forward, and her hip jutting out, a clear sign of her disapproval. "I don't think so."

Behind the bossy blonde, Sandy McCoy, his executive assistant, shook her head too; Jay hoped in sympathy rather than in agreement with Alona. "That's right, bossman." 

He sighed heavily, bowing his head. He should have known girlfriend loyalty always came before boss loyalty. The cast on his right leg grew heavier the longer he continued to stand under their scrutiny. He found shifting his weight to the left didn't help.

Both women stepped cautiously into the office. Alona made silent but obvious hand gestures. Sandy nodded her understanding. They circled the desk from opposite ends as if cautiously cornering a wounded puppy. 

Jay didn't like the calm, determined looks on their faces. He stumbled clumsily backwards a step, nearly dropping one of the crutches, before Alona grabbed one of his arms.

"There's no e-mail to check, J.T. Sandy's got it all forwarding to her box 'til you get back from vacation," Alona assured as if she were speaking to a child -- a workaholic child.

"And I've already changed the password to your work e-mail, so you can't undo it," the curvy, bubbly traitor added as she took his other arm. "So you're just gonna have to trust us peons to run things while you're away." She pushed her long dark hair over her shoulder as she grinned at him.

"But-" Jay stammered, panicking.

"No, buts," Alona said. She and Sandy ushered him toward the door of his office. "Jim and Chad won't run this place into the ground in less than a month, I promise."

Jay didn't look assured. In fact, he looked as though that thought hadn't occurred to him. "Wait-"

Alona didn't wait. "Your mother's downstairs, waiting to take us to the airport."

"Us?" he asked, distracted as they reached the elevator.

"You think she trusts you to actually _go_ on vacation?" Alona asked him. Sandy reached forward to press the down button.

Jay shifted on his crutches and huffed out enough air to lift his long chestnut bangs. "I can go on vacation by myself," he grumbled. 

He didn't look like someone who employed thousands of people world-wide. He looked young and unkempt -- especially today in his untucked, wrinkled, light blue t-shirt and his faded, holey jeans – unfashionable holes ripped into them from traipsing through the dense tropical greenery of Burma several years back. Alona knew the shirt was made of bamboo, because not only had she done all of his packing and unpacking for the last five years, she'd done all of his shopping too. In fact, if it weren't for her, he'd be showing up in just holey underwear and flip-flops even to the black-tie events his mother threw to raise money for his non-profit organization. 

She smirked. "Really? Because you haven't been on one in four years."

Jay glared at her. He turned to Sandy for help. Sandy shrugged with that polite smile she used when she pretended she wasn't taking sides. "I have too," he insisted. "What about that trip to..." He chewed on his lip while he thought hard, squinting a little as he mentally checked off all the places he'd been over the last few years. "D.C.! I saw the Smithsonian and the Spy Museum."

"And you met with the Director of FEMA and that delegation from West Africa to discuss regional irrigation projects," Alona added as the elevator door opened.

"So..." he replied petulantly.

"That was a business trip."

Jay pouted as he maneuvered his broken leg and his crutches onto the elevator. 

Alona kissed her girlfriend. “Miss you,” she whispered before following Jay onto the elevator. 

"Have a nice trip," Sandy wished them both cheerfully as she waved. “Love you,” she mouthed as the doors closed.

Jay glowered at her and wished mean things at her like the office coffee-maker breaking or the copier getting jammed or...or...something spiteful. He knew she meant well. He really did. However, he really had no idea what to do with himself for four weeks in some health resort in Mexico. "Maine! Last year. We went to that bed and breakfast overlooking that bay." Jay peeked at his personal assistant from beneath his bangs.

"And you spent the entire week negotiating with a cannery and two outdoor equipment suppliers for discounts." Alona checked the time on her iPhone.

A corner of Jay's mouth curled upward. "But the view was nice, and you weren't knee deep in swamp or sweating to death for at least two weeks, right?"

Trying to determine his agenda, Alona tilted her head and arched an eyebrow. Finally, her lips slid into a slow smile. "Yeah, Maine was better than Africa or South America and especially better than Haiti."

"See? It was a vacation," he replied triumphantly.

She frowned instantly. " _No_ , J.T., a vacation is where you go to relax and don't even think about work. You read trashy books, drink _a lot_ , meet _new_ people, maybe get laid for a change-"

Jay started to protest. He had a sex life. Sometimes. He had a semi-regular thing with one of the doctors in Doctor Without Borders whenever they were in the same place, which was...almost never. He frowned. 

"…You let other people take care of _you_ for a change instead of worrying about the whole wide world--"

"I let people take care of me. Lots of people do that whether I want it or not. _You_ , Sandy, Mom. I don't need any more people taking care of me, Al. I feel like I'm being babysat as it is. I'm a grown man. I'm a god-damned CEO for Christ's sakes. I have a lot of work to do; I appreciate the help, but I don't see how babying me is helping."

She huffed. " _J.T_..." She rubbed her eyes with one hand and sighed. "Your problem is that you're so focused on your work, that you sorta _need_ a babysitter."

Insulted, Jay opened his mouth to retort.

"No, listen for a sec. _You_ are a workaholic genius, and a really good man, but left on your own you'd work yourself to death." Seeing Jay pouting, she continued. "You focus so much on your work that you don't take care of your own needs. You never remember to eat; you don't take time to relax; you wouldn't schedule regular physicals if they weren't required for the insurance and travel requirements. You never remember to buy groceries, and I bet you don't even know what brand of toothpaste you like, but I bet you'd notice if I picked up a different brand...you will personally carry medical supplies through a tiger-infested jungle for villagers you've never met, but you won't call the dentist for your own toothache. You're selfless, and you're always thinking of everyone else. You easily get distracted by dirty, shoeless orphans or a limping dog or a burning shack, which is why you need someone like _me_ to take care of you."

Jay eyed her and sighed sulkily. It was all true, had been true longer than she had been with him, which is why his mother had hired Alona. "I can still go on vacation by myself," he muttered.

She snorted. "I'm at least making sure you get there with my own two eyes."

"What about Hawaii? Hawaii was a vacation."

The elevator doors opened and Alona smiled. "Met with the Governor to lease old Air Force base hangers and air strips...at a discount."

* * *

## Eight Days Missing  
GSC L.A. H.Q., "Bat Cave" 

Jensen eyed the multi-colored balls as he stalked around the pool table. He felt twitchy, like a racehorse at the starting gate. He always did before a mission briefing. He bent over the table, and carefully aligned the pool stick with the three-ball. He let the stick slide smoothly back and forth through his fingers. It wasn't all that different from lining things up for a sniper shot. One just took more concentration, and the other less pressure.

"Jensen, do you think a traditional or contemporary gown would be better?" Katie asked from the over-cushioned chair in the corner. 

The pool stick scraped the ball on the right side rather than hitting it dead center. The ball rolled an inch to the left and stopped, no longer lined up in any way to be useful. Jensen sighed as loudly as possible and dropped his forehead to the table.

Katie blinked at him over the top of her _Bride_ magazine. "What?"

Jensen lifted his head, letting the frustration pouring from his green eyes speak for him.

Someone really needed to save him from Katie's latest obsession. Especially if it meant the whole team had arrived, thus they could get on to the briefing and, more importantly, the _action_. Three weeks of downtime: visiting with his sister, painting his apartment, and – God, help him -- pretending to like Katie's mundane accountant fiancé; Jensen was so done with vacation.

Fortunately, for Katie, the door to GSC's "Bat Cave" slid up, and Aldis stepped in from the lift. "Hey, guys, did y'all see Chris down there?" the tall, lanky black man grinned mischievously.

Straightening, Jensen smiled at the new arrival. Aldis' good humor was always contagious. "Hey, man!" He stepped forward to low-five his teammate.

"Aldis!" Katie called cheerfully from behind her magazine. "Brownies on the table!"

"Oh, brow- brownies!" Aldis said mid-low-five. "Katie, I love you. You know that, right?" Aldis said as he made a beeline for the brownies. "You're my girl."

"What about Beth?" she teased.

"Beth's my _woman_ , but you? You're my girl," he winked.

Jensen returned the pool stick to the rack and followed Aldis. "So what about Chris?"

"Oh. Oh!" Aldis had two brownies in his hands. "He is _hovering_ over Genevieve's desk, laying on that country boy charm so thick I had to wade through it to get into the elevator, man." He chuckled before taking a bite of one of the brownies. The sound and face he made was almost orgasmic which made Jensen grimace; there were some things he just didn't want to know about his teammates.

Jensen chuckled at his description. Since she'd arrived ten months ago, Chris had been trying to get somewhere with the pretty, polished receptionist someone from their mysterious Headquarters thought would give the front office a business-like appearance. Katie called her "The Ice Queen" when Chris wasn't around.

"Well, one good thing about Chris -- he doesn't give up easy," Jensen observed, reaching for a brownie for lack of anything better to do. He plopped onto the sofa, one leg landing propped on the leather, the other hanging over the edge.

Aldis swallowed the first brownie. "Man, he even brought her tomatoes from his garden. I didn't know he had a garden." He slumped onto the extra-long leather sofa in front of the wall covered in LCD screens.

Katie snickered and dropped her magazine into her lap. "Technically, it's Steve's."

"Our pilot, Steve?" Aldis looked thoughtful. "Somehow I always thought Ventura would have something entirely different than tomatoes in his garden."

Jensen grinned. "Just don't eat the special sauce, man." He and Aldis both snickered like high school boys to which Katie rolled her eyes. 

Jensen noticed Misha in the back of the room within his fortress of computers. The Geek mumbled incomprehensible fragments in low-tones. Jensen often wondered if he was talking to himself or the computers, or if he ever got answers. It didn't matter, because Misha was their mad genius and mostly house-trained by their den mother, handler, fearless leader, Sam.

Now on the sofa, Katie was showing her magazine to Aldis by the time Jensen turned around. Jensen tried not to cringe when Aldis said, "Beth keeps telling me that the latest celeb wedding fad is gardenias and camellias. You should ask her; maybe she can hook you up. You know, sneak you into a couple when she goes to work."

The lift door opened again. Chris emerged. "Hey, Jen!"

Jensen looked up in time to catch his motorcycle helmet before it hit him in the head.

"Gen says to stop leaving it in the reception area," Chris said before slapping him on the back.

"I only do it because she doesn't like it," Jensen mumbled. Knowing it seemed to disrupt her orderly life made him just a little bit warm and fuzzy inside.

"She _knows_ ," Chris replied as he came around to sit on the sofa. "Oh, brownies!" He pushed Jensen's leg down so he could sit between him and the one perky blonde in the room. He pulled Katie to him in a one-armed hug. "You've always been my favorite!" He gave her cheek a big raspberry kiss.

Katie giggled. "Well, hello to you too. Did the- uh - Genevieve say 'yes' this time?"

He sighed dramatically around a brownie and shook his head. "Good thing, I've still got you, huh?"

She winked at him. "For now." 

Chris chuckled, hugging her again, and turned to look at Misha. "Hey, Meesh! Have you had a brownie?"

Without looking up, the thirty-something techno-nerd stated, "Of course, several varieties of flavors and textures, though I least preferred my Aunt Trudy's black bean brownies."

Everyone paused in their conversations to glance around at each other before snickering in unison.

"No, man," Chris grinned. "Would you _like_ a brownie? Katie brought some."

Aldis put three on a napkin without waiting for an answer and was already climbing over the back of the leather sofa when Misha looked up, dark blue eyes blinking in surprise. "Oh...yes, of course. They don't have nuts in them, do they? I really don't like nuts in my brownies."

Aldis chuckled. "No, man. They're pure unadulterated double-double chocolate extra-secret recipe just like Katie always makes." He set them down on top of the flattest space on the multi-tiered computer console.

"Oh. Right." Misha blushed and looked slightly flustered at Katie's smile. "Did you know it's an urban myth that chocolate is nearly equivalent to tea or coffee in caffeine content? In actuality, an ounce of dark chocolate might contain 10 milligrams, while 8-ounces of coffee might contain 100 to 150 milligrams."

"Not the way, Jen makes it," Chris snickered.

Jensen grinned and shrugged. "I'm still trying to get 8-ounces of pure caffeine in my coffee."

Aldis climbed back over the sofa and was just taking a seat as a feminine but commanding voice cleared her throat. Everyone settled, turning to face the front of the room.

Samantha Ferris was in her forties, though which end of the decade was any one's guess. She'd served her country as Marine Corps Officer and then in some military intelligence agency so secret it didn't have initials. Now she worked in the private sector for GSC, running three elite teams out of Los Angeles. She handpicked each team over the years. Each member was a specialist, an expert; together, they were artists, superheroes.

She looked impeccable as always with her perfectly styled shoulder-length, auburn brown hair, her Macy's counter make-up, and her tailored pantsuit. Fingers laced behind her back, she smiled thinly at her favorite team. Technically, like any mother, she wasn't supposed to have favorites, but this team really was like no other. "Welcome back, boys and girls." she smirked.

"Wait, why are you looking at me when you say, 'girls'?" Chris asked.

"Maybe it's your hair that's got her confused," Jensen teased, flipping Chris' shoulder-length, thick brown hair with two fingers.

"Hey! The ladies love my hair!" Chris defended, shoving Jensen's hand away good-naturedly.

"Yeah, that's probably why they're all wearing the same style," Aldis snickered, covering his mouth with one long-fingered hand.

Katie giggled. "Awww, I love your hair, Chrissy." The blonde ran her hand through his long locks.

"Hey, I bet if you cut your hair and put on a suit, Gen would be all over you," Aldis suggested with mock-seriousness.

Chris' sky blue eyes narrowed in a hard glare directed at Aldis.

"Okay, Okay! Boys!" Sam interrupted. "I'm glad to see you missed each other during your down time, but wait for recess, okay?"

"Yes, Mom," Chris replied with an eye-roll.

Jensen snickered at them both.

Samantha just shook her head. "All right. We ready?"

Everyone nodded.

"Okay. Before we begin, Headquarters has authorized me to inform you that this is mission is _completely voluntary_. From this moment until you meet the client, you may walk away with no negative impact on your future employment, reviews, bonuses, or annual salary." Samantha made certain to articulate every word; made sure she had every one's attention for every second. "Do you understand?"

For a brief second, all they could hear was the clicking of Misha's fingers speeding across a keyboard or two.

"Wait. What does that mean?" Katie asked. "No negative impact?" Katie had been the kind of student who did all of the extra-credit because she didn't believe it wouldn't affect her grade; she never trusted a teacher who said something wasn't going to be on a test.

Samantha kept her face neutral. "It means that if you decide you want to walk away from the mission, no one at HQ will think any less of you, nor will this mission ever be discussed when decisions regarding promotion, raises, assignments, and so on, are made."

Jensen didn't like how this was going. "Why?" Jensen believed that anything that didn't sound right, usually wasn't.

"Because this mission is different." Looking uncharacteristically nervous, Samantha shifted her weight to her other foot. "The client isn't someone we would normally work with, but I-"

"What's so special about the client? Who is it?" Aldis asked, suddenly sounding far more serious than he did 90% of the time. He leaned forward, resting his long arms on his faded jeans.

Samantha frowned. She glanced down at her Paciotti flats and back up quickly. "Gerald Padalecki."

Jensen was surprised that Misha's fingers didn't trip in momentary surprise, but then, Misha was usually ahead of them on the information highway. The pregnant pause was followed by a rush to speak, four voices merging inharmonious into something that sounded like "You the _got_ ho-to-fuck-ly mobster be you kid-shi-ding-say-it me?!"

"Gerald Padalecki, the businessman...and _alleged_ New York Mafioso, yes," Samantha replied, calmly without flinching.

Jensen snorted in disgust. He waved his hand dismissively toward Samantha. "No. No way." He ran a hand through his short, golden brown hair. Grabbing his motorcycle helmet, he stood. "We don't do jobs for the mob, Sam."

"Jensen-" Stepping toward him, Samantha pleaded.

"No! That's not a bed you wanna be in, okay?" Jensen replied angrily. The entire time he'd had a badge, it'd been for NYPD. Just being E.S.U. was harrowing enough but seeing what the mob task forces went through? He knew of guys that left for lunch and just vanished or whose wives ended up in the Hudson. He'd been to funerals of officers who'd been executed in their driveways with their kids just inside the house. 

Then there was the whole Azrael fiasco. Jensen shook his head. There was only lose-lose with the mob. Jensen didn't do situations where a win wasn't even a remote possibility any more.

Katie nodded in agreement with Jensen.

"Yeah, Sam, these are not the kind of people we want to be doing favors for. Their favors are like cursed wishes," Aldis put in his two cents.

Samantha rubbed her forehead, wishing away the headache that was slowly forming. "Look, I get it. I don't want to work with Padalecki either, but--" She sighed. "Please. Just...give me ten minutes." She gave Jensen a pleading look, knowing he was the team leader, the pied piper, the one all the others would follow right across a plank if he walked it. "Give me a chance to show you that Padalecki is just the bank roll; what's important is the target."

Jensen frowned. Samantha almost never got emotional about the missions. He could count on one hand the few times it had happened. He looked around the room. Even Misha had stopped his incessant surfing for porn or whatever and was waiting for him to make a decision. He gripped the edges of his helmet and looked down at his hands, knowing that he was absolutely going to regret this the same way he always regretted that tenth shot of tequila. 

With a heavy sigh, he sat on the sofa next to Chris, but held on to his helmet like a four year old clutching a security blanket. "I still reserve the right to walk away."

Samantha nodded in agreement. "Absolutely." She checked her watch. "Danneel will be picking the clients up at the airport in an hour. That gives you plenty of time to decide."

Jensen glared at her. She was definitely going for an emotional punch below the belt. He just knew it.

"Misha?" Samantha nodded. The lights dimmed. She stepped off to the side to let Misha do his thing.

Three giant LCD screens in front of the room came to life. Three AP photographs appeared in a yearbook-like formation. The larger photo in the middle displayed a young man with movie star looks and boy-next-door appeal – deep dimples with a white, bright smile; slanting, green-brown hazel eyes; thick, chestnut hair, curling around his ears and collar; three Marilyn moles, and California-gold skin. Dressed in blue jeans, a chunky belt buckle, cowboy boots, a black t-shirt, and a navy Armani suit jacket, he stood out from the three-piece suits around him. A step behind him on his right, a slender blond woman in a tailored pantsuit was attempting to get his attention away from his iPad.

The photo on the bottom left showed a group of people in CareCorp t-shirts and jackets unloading crates from a rundown-looking truck in the middle of an African village made entirely of tents, shanties, and dirt. The same man hefted a crate marked "Antibiotics" in the middle of the chaos arm muscles bulging, while the same woman leaned over the side of the truck, directing the chaos.

The photo on the bottom right revealed the man dressed in a tuxedo. The blond woman was nowhere to be seen. Instead, he was kissing the cheek of a gorgeous, though older, brunette in a sparkling designer gown as they paused on a red carpet amongst a crowd. Patting, his cheek fondly, she wore a smile brighter than her dress.

Jensen reluctantly made a mental note of those dimples, those eyes, and those muscles. They were all qualities he'd be drawn to if he'd met this man in a bar or the hardware store or anywhere. Then he shredded the note, because, hey, three photos with women, _and_ whoever he was, no matter the pretty, he was connected to a fucking mobster.

"Meet J.T. Clarke," Misha said through his little Madonna-like microphone. "founder and CEO of CareCorp. Full name is Jared Tristan, but friends and family just use 'J.T.' or 'Jay'."

"What's CareCorp?" Chris interrupted. "Something like Red Cross?"

"CareCorp is a disaster relief organization," Misha replied. "Clarke started it as part of a school project when he was ten to raise money for Hurricane disaster relief. It went national when he was seventeen and international when he was twenty. It's non-profit and one of the very few similar organizations to have no political or religious affiliations."

"Yeah, right," Katie commented.

Jensen silently agreed with her. No matter how many organizations claimed that, when push came to shove, there were still ingrained beliefs that would shine through. People could say whatever they wanted as long they didn't have to prove outright, and how do you prove your organization has no religious affiliations or political leanings?

"No, it's true; it's in their charter," Aldis said. When he caught the other three staring at him, he continued. "Hey, the dude won the Diana Spencer Humanitarian Award last year and all I heard about from Beth was how he sent his Momma to accept it for him," he shrugged. "Unlike _some_ people, I _listen_ to my girlfriend. Not only does it lead to a healthy relationship, but it keeps me up on world events." He grinned proudly. Beth was a photo journalist, specializing in social and political events and people. Jensen felt hardly either qualified as "world events."

"Dude," Chris said, drawing the word out into two syllables. "You are so whipped."

"Yes, I am, but it beats sucking up to the-"

Samantha cleared her throat. 

Everyone turned to look at her. 

Once she had every one's attention again, she asked, "Are we ready to continue?"

They all nodded in unison.

"Good. Misha, please continue."

Jensen pushed himself up so he was sitting on the back of the sofa, feet on the cushion next to Chris. He set his helmet between his boots and leaned forward, resting his elbows casually on his thighs. He wasn't sure what this Clarke kid had to do with Padalecki but he supposed it wasn't good if he was the target. If Padalecki was bank rolling a rescue operation to get the kid back, the two were involved somehow. Jensen felt sick just thinking about it.

Misha cleared his throat as he tried to decide where to pick things back up. "Clarke's extremely hands-on with CareCorp, personally handles most of the negotiations with companies for donations and purchase discounts for supplies and assistance, and as you can see, refuses to send anyone anywhere he isn't willing to go himself -- he even led ten doctors and twenty other volunteers into Burma during the 2008 government lock-down."

"So, he's either stupid or crazy," Jensen said, making Chris snort and Katie giggle.

"We'll say he's 'idealistic'," Sam corrected with a tone that suggested Jensen shouldn't push it.

"The blond woman in the two left photos is Alona Tal, Clarke's personal assistant," Misha continued, ignoring them. "For the last five years, wherever he's gone, she's a step behind."

"So...she's like a _personal_ assistant?" Chris asked with a smirk.

"Don't be stupid," Katie replied butting his shoulder with hers.

"What? I'm just asking if they're involved? Or if the brunette in the other picture is the girlfriend," Chris defended.

"Dude," Jensen chastised. "Even _I_ know that's Melinda Clarke."

"What?" Chris choked as he squinted, leaning forward to get a better look at the woman in the photo.

Aldis laughed at Chris.

Misha switched the photos so the award show photo was now enlarged in the center. "Jensen is correct. The photo _is_ of Melinda and J.T. Clarke."

Jensen took the opportunity to study the resemblance between the actress and the young humanitarian -- they had the same coloring and similar features. He glanced at Samantha, tilting his head as he made a mental connection. She gave him a small headshake to discourage whatever he might have said.

"Wait, so he's related to Melinda Clarke, _the_ actress -- 'Queen of Hearts' Melinda Clarke?" Katie asked.

" _Girl_ ," Aldis replied, "Don't you people know _anything_? I swear to God I'm getting all of y'all subscriptions to _People_ for Christmas! I _told_ you that boy sent his mama to pick up his award; who do you think his mama is?"

Chris blinked at Aldis. "Uh-uh. No way. _She_ is not old enough to be _his_ mother. Look at her!" He pointed at the screen. The sex symbol did indeed appear to be hardly more than ten or fifteen years older than the man's reported twenty-eight.

"I'm not lying!" Aldis replied; hand over his heart. "Meesh, tell them I'm not lying!"

"He's not lying," Misha replied without inflection. "Though according to some of the more questionable publications, Ms. Clarke's real age is one of Hollywood's best kept secrets and there are rumors that Clarke himself could be a clone. However, intellectually, that very idea is just absurd. He's too old for cloning to be considered a real possibility."

Jensen stifled a laugh at Misha's sincerity. Then he cleared his throat. Trying to get things back on the subject at hand, he asked, "All right, what do all of these things have to do with the mission...and Gerald Padalecki?" He couldn't hide the disdain for the mob boss in his tone.

Samantha stepped forward. "Okay, look, about a month ago, J.T. broke his leg, and seeing as he's both a workaholic and _a man_ -" 

"Hey!" Aldis and Chris protested.

Samantha ignored them. "-he wouldn't stay off the leg, just like he's been ignoring the family doctor's recommendation that he take a break for a while, so Melinda and Alona arranged for him to stay in one of those remote health spas in Mexico as a kind of intervention. Eight days ago, J.T. and Alona left L.A. for the resort in Mexico City and they never arrived. Three days later, some tourists found Alona on a beach in Cozumel." A couple of newspaper clippings appeared on the screens behind her -- one from _The Miami Herald_ and one from a Mexican paper -- reporting the discovery of a Jane Doe in a coma found on the beach. "She'd been drugged, beaten and left for dead."

"Holy shit," Katie swore, digging her nails into the sofa as she leaned forward.

At the same time, Jensen swore, "Son of a bitch." He ran a hand over the lower half of his face.

"Mother-" The rest of Chris' explicative was drowned out by Aldis' own, "Fuck."

"Alona has been transferred to a private facility here in L.A. and Melinda has arranged not only for the best medical care but around the clock security," Samantha intoned. In fact, another team was handling Alona's security. "Misha?"

Misha picked up the briefing. "Only one cartel produces and sells the particular derivative of heroin, known as Ixtab that was found in Miss Tal's system. The Corazon Muertos Cartel has been hocking Ixtab primarily in Miami and the Florida panhandle while pushing up the Eastern Coast for the past year." The photos changed to a map of the Eastern seaboard, which had the areas color-coded by controlling crime syndicates. "However, they've been blocked by the Irish mafia in New England and the Russian, Polish and Italian crime syndicates in New York, New Jersey, D.C. and the surrounding states. Less than 48 hours ago, Gerald Padalecki received a message from a head of the Cartel. It suggested that 'if his mistress wanted to see their son again', he should arrange an alliance with his organization and the Cartel which would allow the Cartel access to sell in New York and guarantee protection from the Russians and the Italians. In exchange, they will share the profits and free Mr. Clarke."

The room was quiet for a moment while the team digested the new information. Misha changed the map on the screen to a photo of J.T. looking much worse for wear: his leg was in a cast; his face bore multiple bruises, old and new; his bottom lip was bloody; and one eye was swollen shut. Tied to a chair in a poorly lit room, a copy of _The New York Times_ from three days ago was taped to the front of his chest. 

"Oh, man, that's just wrong," Chris finally said, breaking the silence.

"So, wait, he's..." Katie started. Her hands flailed in front of her. "Melinda Clarke and Gerald Padalecki, the mob boss?" She scrunched up her nose like the whole thing ruined her perception of the world as she knew it. "Really?

"Girl, you didn't see that one coming?" Aldis rolled his eyes.

"According to the less reputable media sources," Misha replied, his voice sounding skeptical for once. "Miss Clarke's affair with Mr. Padalecki is one of Hollywood's least well-kept secrets. Like Marilyn Monroe and J.F.K. only less famous."

Jensen stared at Samantha. "So this guy got taken because he's Padalecki's bastard kid? That's it? He didn't _do_ anything to make himself a target? He's not on the take? He's not laundering money, not turning evidence. Nothing?"

Samantha shook her head. "He's only ever met his father a handful of times, and that was when he was little. He wants less to do with him than you do."

"I bet _this_ has really endeared him to daddy," Chris muttered.

Samantha ignored the comment. "So, here's the mission: Padalecki doesn't trust the Cartel to hand J.T. over if any kind of deal is made, even if he can convince his people to make one. He doesn't want Ixtab in New York, and he doesn't want to risk his people's lives protecting the Cartel against the Russians and the Italians over it either. There's nothing good about any part of the Cartel's ultimatum."

All four members of the field team nodded in agreement. No arguments there.

"Melinda doesn't trust Padalecki's people to handle a rescue and retrieval operation like this one, and, let's be honest, the mob isn't equipped to do this kind of work, and they usually aren't subtle," she looked around the room, seeing the slight smirk on Chris' face and noting when Katie's shoulders relaxed at the teasing. "So, this mission is different from the usual ones we get. It involves rescuing the target from the home of a major drug player, one of the most dangerous crime cartels in Mexico right now. The financial backer is mafia, the target and his family are public figures. I'm asking you to take it, because J.T. is a _good_ guy. There aren't many people like him in the world. It would be a horrible injustice for him to be murdered because half of his DNA is Gerald Padalecki's, when he's done nothing but devote his life to helping other people." Samantha studied their faces. She was pretty sure she had them hooked, but she still needed to give them the requisite amount of time to decide. She checked her watch. "Any questions?"

Katie scratched her cheek. "All we have to do is rescue the kid? I mean, we're not expected to take down the Cartel or assassinate any of the head honchos in retaliation, right?"

Keeping her face neutral, Samantha nodded. "Yes, exactly. Just bring J.T. home alive. That's all Melinda wants, and Padalecki has agreed to do everything her way."

"I trust we have some idea where they're holding him?" Aldis turned to look at Misha.

Misha nodded. "There are rough floor plans already in the mission packets, but I'll have up-to-the-minute satellite photos of the compound available when you land in Mexico."

Aldis shook his head with a grin. "You are _so_ the man, Meesh."

Blushing, Misha smiled at the compliment before ducking behind some monitors.

"Is Tal still in her coma or can we talk to her?" Chris asked.

Samantha shook her head. "She's still unconscious." The corners of her mouth turned downward. "It's probably for the best at the moment. Her body has a lot of healing to do and that requires most of her energy. If she were awake..." Samantha wasn't sure exactly what she was going to say. It would be better if she woke up after her body had healed so she only had to deal with the psychological mending. She hoped the girl never remembered whatever it was that happened to her. 

Chris nodded, accepting the answer.

Jensen chewed on his bottom lip. Finally, he asked, "This one is personal, isn't it?"

Samantha frowned. She knew she hadn't been as aloof as usual in her briefing; however, she'd hoped no one would call her on it. Closing her eyes, she let her head drop so her chin rested on her chest. She took a moment to gather her thoughts.

"Sam?" Katie queried in a soft voice. "Is it?"

Samantha raised her head and pushed her hair away from her face with one hand. She nodded with a heavy sigh. "Yes, okay, but I don't want that to influence your decision. You can still walk away. I won't hold it against you. This _is_ a very dangerous mission. The Cartel are dangerous people. Padalecki is a dangerous man. Headquarters is not sanctioning this mission, but they aren't forbidding it either."

Chris quirked an eyebrow as his curiosity grew. "So, what? You and the kid?"

"Oh, man, why you gotta assume it's a sex thing right away?" Aldis asked, reaching around Katie to shove Chris' shoulder.

"'Cuz everything is about love or money, man," Chris replied shoving back. "And I don't think Sam would ask us to do this over money."

"No, it's family," Jensen said, quietly, green eyes on Samantha.

Samantha's gaze locked with Jensen's and she nodded slowly. "That's right. Melinda is my cousin. Growing up, we were practically sisters. J.T. is my god-son." She folded her arms across her chest.

"So...you would know her real age then," Aldis replied with a smart-ass smile.

Samantha looked over at him and then at the others. She realized they had all already made up their minds. A slow, relieved smile spread across her lips. "I'm afraid if I told you, I'd only have to kill you."

* * *

## GSC L.A. H.Q. 

Jensen never made promises when it came to hostages. That was his first rule in hostage retrieval. Even in the face of distraught, panicked, crying girlfriends, wives, and mothers -- especially crying mothers -- absolutely never promise to bring their loved ones home alive. That was the surest way to guarantee it wouldn't happen in the most fucking spectacular way possible. Big fucking way to jinx the mission.

That was one of the reasons Jensen kept himself across the room from the sniffling actress with her quivering bottom lip after the introductions. From where he stood, Sam seemed to be doing an excellent job of consoling her. Consoling was absolutely not the team's job. The team's job was to stay detached. 

Besides, he didn't even want to like her. Even if she was Sam's cousin, her choice in romantic partners clearly showed an extreme lack of good judgment. Much worse than any of his loser ex-boyfriends, and until this morning he had considered himself the World Champion Belt wearer of loser ex-boyfriends.

Leaning against the dark wood-paneled wall, he folded his arms across his chest. Frowning, he studied the two men hovering near Melinda and Sam. At least Padalecki had the decorum to appear concerned, even if his sleazy lawyer -- Glove or Goober or something -- in his $1,000 suit was too busy interacting with his Blackberry to even realize where they were.

Jensen could see the resemblance from the photographs; while J.T. had his mother's coloring and cheekbones, his height and build were clearly Padalecki genes. The file Misha had compiled said J.T. stood at 6'5", which was -- Jensen rarely met men taller than his own 6'1" and most of those were certainly not as good-looking -- Jensen shook his head to clear it of that train of thought. Padalecki was at least 6'3". With his height, muscular build, charming smile -- though it never quite met those brown-green eyes that hinted of danger -- Jensen could see how the man would be able to command attention in any room, especially a room full of Made men.

Jensen was especially sure he didn't want anyone making promises to Gerald Padalecki. He'd threatened the entire team in a pre-client pep talk that they all better watch what they said around the mob boss and his mistress. No one better leave this meeting owing Padalecki anything and Padalecki better not have promised favors to anyone in exchange for services rendered. Mob favors were exactly as Aldis described -- cursed wishes; they never turned out like you expected, but once the genie was out of the bottle, there was no wishing him back in there.

"Brownie for your thoughts," Katie offered as she stepped up to him.

He glanced down at her, noting she had changed into her comfortable travel clothes. "This whole thing makes my skin itch," he said softly as he watched Danneel bring bottled water to Melinda and the other clients.

"I know what you mean," Katie nodded. "It feels off." She toyed with the hem of her shirt as she studied the lawyer and Padalecki. "But I talked to both parents and they seemed genuinely worried for the kid's safety."

"That's just it, Katie," Jensen frowned. "This guy's not a kid. He's a young, shit-talking exec, who can handle himself in a military zone in the middle of a natural disaster He's smart and he knows how to take care of himself.."

"Wh-" Katie worked her jaw a couple of times as she stared at him, trying to discern where his mind was going with that thought. "Well, you don't think he was in on it. Even _you_ can't be that cynical, Jen."

Jensen's frown deepened. "No. No! I'm just saying they didn't kidnap him on a whim. He's a big guy. I doubt he went without a fight either. They had to be prepared, and they had to know where he was gonna be."

Katie's brow furrowed as she considered it. She nodded. "I'll get Danni and Misha on it. Find out the names of everyone who knew when and where they were going." Katie moved away from his side as quietly as she had appeared. 

Jensen could hear Melinda impatiently ask Sam when her team was going to leave. Jensen sighed inwardly and stepped forward to act as a buffer. "Pardon me for interrupting, ma'am," he said softly, leaving it to Melinda and Sam to infer who he was addressing. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Padalecki and Glover move closer.

Sam looked up at Jensen from the love seat where she had her arm around her cousin. She looked grateful for a second before her expression slipped back into her strong, supportive cousin role. "Yes? What is it, Jensen?"

"Aldis and Chris have most the equipment loaded on the plane, and Steve's got her fueled and ready. Katie's just finishing up passing on some details we want Misha and Danni to check into, and then we're going to head over." He kept his face serious. No promises. Smiles could be misinterpreted as offered reassurance or promised hope.

"Okay. Have Steve touch base with Misha before take-off," Sam nodded. "Let him run the drop off and pick up points through his little program before you go," she reminded, biting down on the need to scold.

Jensen winced. _One time._ One time Steve had to fly into a hurricane to get them because no one checked the Weather Channel and she wouldn't let it drop. "Yes, ma'am," Jensen nodded and turned to leave.

"Wait," Melinda grabbed Jensen's wrist, her manicured nails biting into his flesh like little pins sticking into his heart.

Reluctantly, Jensen turned back to her, giving her a silent questioning look.

"Please," she whispered with a desperate voice. She looked him right in the eyes so he could see every drop of agony she was suffering. "Please bring back my baby. He's all I really have. He's every important part of my life."

In over ten years, Jensen had heard a lot of pleas, a lot of demands, for his help, for his promise, for his guarantee to bring loved ones home or out of danger. They all declared their love in some way or another. Some really meant it. No one ever seemed as broken open, raw and genuine as Melinda Clarke in that moment. It surprised him, torpedoed the shields he maintained to remain detached and focused on the objective.

Jensen gripped Melinda's hand in both of his. With a small, reassuring smile, he told her, "Ma'am, we are going to do the very best we can to help your son. You can count on that." When she returned his smile with a hint of relief and hope in her brown eyes, he gave her hand a gentle pat and then let go. He took a few steps back, turned, and fled the room as quickly as he could.

* * *

## GSC L.A. H.Q.,   
Parking Garage 

Hefting two of the over-stuffed black duffel bags, Katie stepped out of the lift into the practically empty parking garage. Similarly weighted down, Misha and Danni were right behind her. Danni's mouth had not stopped moving from eight flights up and six feet west. 

"I mean, you should have seen it. As soon as he and his lawyer got in the limo, I thought she was gonna rip his face right off with those talons of hers," the redhead gossiped. "I thought they were supposed to be in some sort of epic love affair or something. _You_ told me there were hot secret rendezvouses," she accused Misha, "And forbidden love and all that shit. No one warned me that if I put them in the same car, he'd need a protective cup and a hockey mask."

Katie smirked as she dropped the bags next to an unmarked white van. "Well, her cub is endangered. Of course, she's going to lash out." She yanked the side door of the van so it slid wide open, leaving plenty of room for the other two to deposit their equipment. Katie's attention immediately zeroed in on the driver's seat, where a desperate, frustrated man was searching the glove box. "Jensen? What are you doing?"

"Yeah! What are you doing? You were supposed to be carrying this crap down here," Danni gripped as she unceremoniously dropped her bags into the van.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Misha protested. "Easy with the prototypes. You can't just run down to Wal-Mart and buy a new one if you break any of those, you know."

Danni didn't look particularly impressed.

"Cigarettes!" Jensen demanded, slamming the glove compartment closed before moving his search to the console.

"You quit, remember?" Katie replied, ignoring the other two as she hefted her two bags into the van with ease.

"I quit quitting," he rejoined.

Katie rolled her eyes. "You can't just quit quitting." She put her hands on her hips.

Misha carefully arranged all the bags in the van. He slid the door shut as Katie opened the passenger side front door.

"Sure I can. I just did. Now, tell me where you keep the emergency backup cigarettes," he demanded calmly, looking her in the eyes.

"You should try those new e-cigarettes," Danni interrupted. "The fake ones with no nicotine but they still smoke? Krave or something."

Jensen reluctantly pulled his eyes away from Katie's to blink at Danni as if he couldn't believe she was still even there.

"This guy I used to date uses them. He says they're so much healthier and they totally fulfill his oral fixation and that need to do _something_ with his hands." Danni gestured, mimicking the hand movements of bringing a cigarette to and from her mouth.

Barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Jensen turned back to Katie and held out his hand. "No, really, Katie, I need them. I know you guys keep a pack in the van." His voice was almost steady, the voice and tone Nate had taught him to use for hostage negotiation among other things; it held the tiniest hint of pleading.

Misha slipped his fingers around Danni's elbow, guiding her toward the lift. "You know, those e-cigarettes are a very clever invention actually. They help to separate those people with true drug addictions from those with a psychological need for a pacifier. Perhaps there is a research grant just waiting to be had in the theory, Miss Danneel. You may have stumbled onto a remarkable break-through regarding the difference between addiction and addictive personalities."

Danni didn't even realize Misha had distracted her from Jensen and Katie until the lift door was already closed.

With her hands on her hips, Katie stared at Jensen's cool exterior and his outstretched hand. "Why?"

"Does there have to be a why? Can't I just really need a cigarette today?" Jensen replied.

Katie shook her head. "Uh-uh. I've been keeping track, Jen. You did fine all through the last mission and all through our downtime, even with your sister visiting." she pointed a finger at him to emphasize the last few words. "So, why today? Is it the mission?"

Jensen didn't say anything. He just pursed his lips. Then he dropped his hand. "Fine, get in. I'll stop somewhere on the way to the hangar." He turned and pulled the seat belt across him, snapping it into the buckle.

She clenched her jaw and stood her ground, not getting into the van. "No way. Not until you tell me what's up. I'm not following you into a dangerous situation when you're worked up and you won't say what it is."

"I'll be perfectly relaxed once I have a cigarette," he reminded her, gripping the steering wheel and staring through the front window.

She shook her head and snorted. "Yeah, until the tension builds up again...Is it because of Padalecki? 'Cuz none of us likes working for him, Jen. We're with you on that."

Jensen shook his head, gritting his teeth and then nodded. "Yeah, no...he's part of it." He reached up and rubbed the area right between his eyes.

Katie climbed into the van but didn't buckle in or close the door. She just sat and stared out the front window at the grey concrete wall, waiting for Jensen to talk.

He sighed. "This whole thing is fucked up, Katie. Down in the pit of my stomach, I can feel it. There's nothing right about it. Nothing." He shook his head and chewed on his bottom lip.

"Well...what about the target? On paper he seems like a good guy," Katie replied.

Jensen snorted with a smirk. "No one is that good, Katie. You know that. All of us look good on paper."

"Sam says he's the real deal," Katie pointed out.

"Because everyone Sam knows is an open book, living in a glass house. What does James think you do again?" Everyone on the team except Jensen and Danni had some part of their past classified, and now, they didn't exactly explain what they did for GSC; their official business cards all read: "Security Consultant."

Frowning, Katie huffed. Momentarily, she leaned forward, reaching between her legs and under the seat. After a few seconds, the sound of tape ripping ruined the silence. When she sat back in the car seat, she had a pack of Marlborough's covered in duct tape. She handed it to Jensen.

He sighed. "I told Melinda she could count on us to do our best to help her son." He pulled the lighter out of the glove box; slid a cigarette out of the crinkled cigarette pack. He had it in his mouth and almost lit before Katie managed to find a response.

She pulled the door shut and then yanked the seat belt into place. Without looking at him, she said, "That's practically a promise, Jensen. Fuck, you probably even gave her some hope."

Jensen grimaced as he went through the usually comforting motions of cigarette smoking. Letting the cigarette hang out of the side of his mouth while he started up the van, he felt a resurgence of the feeling that this whole thing was a really fucked up idea. That somehow nothing was ever going to be the same.

"I'm proud of you." Katie patted his shoulder reassuringly as the van pulled out onto the street.


	3. Chapter Two: Trouble on the Rise

# Chapter Two: Trouble on the Rise

_I was on my way down to Mexico,  
There was trouble on the rise.  
It was nothing more than I'd left behind,  
Which was much to my surprise.  
\-- ZZ Top, _Going Down to Mexico

## Eight Days Since Abduction  
Jacob Vargas' Compound, by the Pool  
The Corazon Muertos Cartel, Mexico

He grunted as two pairs of overly large hands none-to-gently hauled him up. The lumpy pallet was straw-filled, a little buggy, and smelled suspiciously like mold, but it was stationary. His stomach momentarily threatened to express its discomfort. 

The conditions were survivable. He'd coped with worse in the past.

It was the drugs they were injecting into him that made everything unbearable. They kept everything muddled pretty good. He didn't know how long he'd been here or where here was or where Alona was or even what they wanted. Sometimes the drugs made him not even care what they wanted or what he wanted or even who he was, and, quite honestly, when they weren't making him not care, he was scared. He hated it. He hated not being in control of his mind.

Granted, the lack of pain was a bonus. If he hadn't caught a peek of them for himself, he wouldn't have been so sure he still had toes. The thumping of the cast as the two thugs lugged him up the stairs assured him even the broken leg was still there, but the drugs had disconnected his give-a-damn button. He also knew he had bruises, cuts and scrapes of varying degrees and ages but damned if he didn't mostly feel numb until this morning. At least he assumed it was morning. It was hard to tell in the tiny concrete room with no windows and the one flickering light bulb, but someone had brought him really watered down coffee and dry toast, which his stomach had promptly rejected into the same bucket he'd been using as a toilet.

The two men manhandled him outdoors across the compound to a terrace patio, and really, at 6'5", Jay wasn't used to being manhandled involuntarily by men who were larger than himself. Peering at them from beneath his bangs, he frowned at the walking tanks; they might even be bigger than Uncle Arnie with their steroid-induced, bulging muscles that looked like they might pop if you stuck a pin in them. In fact, he rather wished he'd paid more attention when Uncle Arnie had tried to teach him those bad-ass fighting moves now. At ten, he really just wanted to sit on the motorcycle with the leather jacket and the shades. _Shit._

The thugs dropped him unceremoniously into a chair on the terrace near a swimming pool that could easily have been in the backyard of any Hollywood home. The mansion had the look of 1940's Hollywood in its glory days before glamor gave way to glitter and gaudy; the replica mansion was three times the size of those classic houses and surrounded by armed men in camouflage, spoiling the illusion.

A well-dressed Mexican man in his early forties with a short, neatly trimmed beard calmly walked the path from the mansion to the terrace. Her head bowed, a maid with a serving tray followed five steps behind him. When he reached the terrace, the man studied Jay like a lab rat. Then he turned to the thugs and angrily spoke to them in Spanish.

Fortunately, all of those years of Spanish classes plus watching Spanish soaps with Chad paid off for Jay.

"I thought I fucking told you to lay off the fucking drugs?" Head Guy accused Thug Boys.

Thug One flinched. "Dr. Alba began reducing the dosage yesterday. She says you have to do it in steps, or it could kill him."

 _Well, fuck_. Jay could have told him that, and he was only operating at half power. So much for hoping there was someone smart in charge.

Head Guy pursed his lips in thought. He nodded. "And where are his crutches?"

Thug Two glanced at Jay thoughtfully and then shrugged. "Crutches?"

"Yes, moron. Crutches. See the broken leg? He had to have crutches when he arrived at the airport."

Thug One and Thug Two glanced nervously at each other and then Thug One said, "He didn't have crutches when he came to _us_."

Jaw clenching, Head Guy folded his arms across his chest. "Well then, I guess you better go find some then."

Thug Two hesitated; then he nodded. "Yes, sir." He turned to go.

"Ah- an appropriate-sized pair!" Head Guy added, holding up a finger, sounding every bit as if this was a variant of some conversation they'd had many times before.

Thug Two's shoulders stiffened. He slowly let his breath out as if he were silently counting to ten. Finally he said, "Yes, sir," before he walked quickly down the path toward the mansion.

Head Guy turned toward the maid and gestured for her to set her tray on the table, which she did, before scurrying after Thug Two.

Jay had remained quiet throughout all of the interactions, partly because his brain was still in foggy slow motion, and partly because it was the best way to size up an opponent -- best to let the enemy assume he was handicapped or couldn't understand. Jay hadn't gone to business school, but he'd grown up in the most cut-throat world on earth -- the entertainment business. Oddly, he’d found the lessons he’d learned watching Hollywood politics could be applied to board rooms, Senate Committees, and even war-zones.

When Head Guy turned his smile on him, Jay steadied himself, readied his groggy, sluggish brain the best he could. The guy had an agenda. Jay recognized the look, because Jay always had an agenda himself. Heck, Jay was well aware of the power of his own dimpled smile and the puppy-dog eyes. He knew how to charm a rattle off a snake himself. However, Jay never used the snake as a piñata first.

"I'm sorry we haven't been introduced, Señor Clarke. I'm Jacob Vargas. I apologize for your treatment prior to your arrival," Head Guy - Vargas said in heavily accented English, pulling a chair over so he could sit in front of Jay. 

Jay blinked at Vargas. Really, what did the man expect him to say? He obviously didn't need to introduce himself, and he wasn't going to politely shrug everything off and say, "Oh, that's alright, don't worry about it." He actually completely minded the fact that he’d been used as a punching bag by over-zealous Mexican hoodlums. Especially since he had no idea where they took Alona, or what had happened to her. So, he let his silence answer for him.

Vargas' smile dimmed at his lack of response. He tilted his head and gave Jay a concerned look as if worried the drugs might have damaged his brain. "I assure you. My lieutenant has been heavily disciplined for his carelessness."

Trying to look stern and bad-ass from underneath heavy-lidded eyes wasn't nearly as easy as the movie drug dealers made it out to be. Especially when he hadn't spoken much in a day or so. "Where-" Jay's voice was so hoarse his throat hurt, and just the one word sent him into a fit of coughing.

Vargas quickly moved to fill one of the glasses with iced water from the carafe. "Careful!" He shoved the glass into Jay's hand. "Here. Here, Señor Clarke. Drink. The water will help, si?"

Jay gulped the water down. The cool liquid felt like rain at the end of a long drought. Gripping the glass in his hand, he steeled himself again and glared back at his captor, refusing to be grateful.

"Better?"

He cleared his throat. "Where's my companion?" And, no, that didn't sound at all like the big, giant sci-fi geek that he was. "Alona?"

Vargas sat back in his chair, giving him time to school his expression. "Your woman?"

Jay didn't correct him.

"She is back in L.A...I read in the gossip papers your mama met her at the airport."

Jay looked skeptical.

Vargas smirked. "Your woman and your mama are close, no? Friends?" He rolled his eyes. "My mama and my wife fight like cats with their tails tied together. I have to keep them in separate houses. You're very lucky. It's good they have each other now," he added as if concerned for Jay's family's well-being. When Jay appeared unaffected by his show of sensitivity, Vargas shrugged his shoulders dismissively. "Choose to believe me or no. It's up to you. None of this involves her. There was no point in keeping her and adding to her misery," he said. "And, I'm afraid, none of this is really about you either."

Jay had already figured out that much. Everything he'd done for the last eighteen years to distance himself from Gerald Padalecki, no matter how far he'd gone to get away from the man, no matter how much good he'd done to make up for the tainted half of his DNA, he still had ended up a pawn in one of his father's criminal games. He clenched his jaw to keep from saying something more smart-ass than the coldly intoned "I know."

Vargas' smile dimmed more so it now looked forced. "Honestly, Señor Clarke -- J.T., may I call you 'J.T.'?"

"I prefer 'Clarke'." Jay gritted out. The guy wasn't his damned friend, and it pissed him off that he kept trying to act like they were going to be best buddies throughout this whole kidnapping thing; like he needed a side order of Stockholm Syndrome to discuss with that crackpot therapist Alona kept trying to sneak into his appointment schedule.

Vargas frowned and then pursed his lips. "Fine. Clarke. The point is _you_ and _I_ are just pieces in this chess game. _Your_ father, _my_ bosses – they are the players, the kings. Personally, I have no ill will against you. You are a good man; you do good things. You help people. _I_ like to help people. We are alike in that."

Jay snorted. He couldn't help himself. At least he managed not to roll his eyes, but only because the drugs in his system were still keeping him from having full control of his movement.

Vargas glared at him. "Don't think you're superior because you bathe in good works." Vargas leaned forward, pointing right into Jays face. "I'm Catholic. I confess to the priest regularly, and I'm generous to the Church."

"You think you can bribe your way into Heaven?" Jay blinked. _Shit_. The drugs made it harder to filter.

Vargas rose halfway out of his seat. His hand stopped inches from Jay's face but he pulled it back before it made contact.

Jay wished he hadn't flinched. All those years of winning at the don't-flinch game with Chad, ruined by one little kidnapping misadventure. His hands curled into fists on the arm of the chair as he watched his captor sit back down.

Vargas closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "There's no reason for this situation to be more unpleasant than it needs to be. We're just waiting for your father and my bosses to finalize some details, and then you'll be on your way home. So, I think it would be much more civilized and more comfortable for everyone if you were my _guest_ rather than my _prisoner_?"

The corners of Jay's lips curled downward. He glanced over his shoulder at the thug that still lurked nearby. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, he dug through his fog-filled mind for the right words. "You know, I don't think the travel agent was clear. What's the difference between the guest package and the prisoner package on this trip?"

* * *

## GSC L.A. H.Q., "Bat Cave"

"John, would you stop fiddling with that gadget already?" Gerald complained. He paced the full length of the room with the LCD screens again. Then he stopped to glare at his chief legal counsel.

Sitting on the long length of the sofa, John Glover sighed. He slid his Blackberry into the breast pocket of his tailored, Armani charcoal jacket and folded his manicured hands in his lap. "I was merely attempting to tie up some loose ends back in New York. Every one's a little startled by your Houdini act and no one seems to know what they're supposed to be doing." His tone bore hints of pompous scolding.

"Let Jeff take care of all that," Gerald dismissed with a wave of his hand. "He's been begging for a chance to take on more responsibility. Here's his chance to show the Family he's got real meat on his bones."

John frowned. Jeff Padalecki didn't need opportunities to prove to the Family what sort of leader he'd be when Gerald was no longer able to lead. Maybe Gerald hadn't been paying enough attention. Jeff was far more old school than Gerald's leanings appeared recently. Quite a few of the more traditional members appreciated Jeff's style and voiced complaints that Gerald was getting soft. 

"Speaking of Jeff…Shouldn't you tell him why you skipped town in the middle of the night?" John asked.

"No," Gerald replied firmly. He shook his head. He glanced over to Melinda resting against her cousin on a love seat in an alcove, and sighed. "No...Jeff has always been irrationally jealous of Mel and J.T. If he finds out the Cartel is using J.T. to blackmail me into setting up the meet, he'll use that to rally support against the Cartel alliance strictly to go against me. The vote _has_ to be if the Family wants the alliance, and not about Padalecki politics."

John arched an eyebrow. So maybe Gerald did know how dirty Jeff could play. "But you don't actually _want_ the Cartel in New York…"

Gerald stopped pacing and stared at John. "I'm playing my part, John. I'm trying to make everyone happy and keep J.T. alive, but it's a narrow tight rope." He shoved his hands in his pockets. He knew he wasn't Father of the Year, nowhere near the ballpark even. He'd tried to respect J.T.'s wishes and be proud of the boy's accomplishments from afar. In fact, J.T. had seemed to shine and excel without the weight of the Padalecki Family to drag him down. Yet, now it seemed, even _that_ darkness had caught up with him, and Gerald felt as if he had cursed both of his sons.

* * *

## hangar 23  
Van Nuys Airport, L.A.

In a game of "Which one of these is not like the others?" Jensen theorized that their pilot, Steve, with his outrageous Hawaiian shirts, year-round golden all-over tan, and his unflappable laid-back personality, was the clear winner on Team Alpha, and he was definitely counting the summer that Misha wore the Josie and the Pussycats headband every day and the two different Halloweens that Aldis went as RuPaul and as Chris.

"Jen! Sweetheart!" Steve shouted from the hatch of the Cessna Citation Latitude, which had been painted to look like something less charming with much more character. The busty pinup on the side was christened Barbara Ann because Steve played a pick-up gig with a Beach Boy once.

Jensen grinned at Steve and tossed the remains of his cigarette to the ground, grinding it out with his boot. "You could put a man's eyes out with that shirt, man!" He threw his arm over his eyes to shield himself from the bright red, yellow, and orange arrangement.

Steve laughed as he jogged down the ramp. His blond hair was tied in a short ponytail and a string of turquoise beads hugged his neck. He held out a hand to low-five the team leader. "Long time no see, man."

"Yeah, sorry about that. I meant to swing by the bar during downtime, but Mack was in town," Jensen smiled as he returned the gesture. Steve's cousin had a bar; sometimes on the weekends when they were in town, she let Chris and Steve's part-time band play there; sometimes Jensen was drunk enough to be dragged up on stage with them.

"You could've brought her," Steve admonished.

Jensen adamantly shook his head and gave Steve a knowing look. "And introduce her to you and Chris. Hell, no. I haven't figured out your secret yet." Jensen pointed accusingly at Steve. "But I'm not risking my baby sister's innocence."

Steve chuckled. "If she's anything like you, Jen, she's definitely not innocent."

Looking hurt, Jensen put a hand to his heart. "Hey, in my eyes, she'll always be twelve years old, blowing up Barbies in the backyard."

Steve's smile widened as the picture formed in his mind. "Man," he drew the word out so it had three syllables. "Just once you _have_ to bring me home for a very Ackles' Christmas." He slid his arm around Jensen's shoulders and said, "You ready to check out the options? I have a fresh pot of Kona coffee..." 

Jensen glanced over his shoulder at Katie, Aldis and Chris who were making short work of unloading the van. "How fresh?" he asked as he allowed Steve to steer him toward the plane.

"I picked it up from this little cafe I know, run by these sweet sisters near the base of Haulalai two days ago."

Jensen chuckled. "Sisters, huh? I see."

"No, man. Reverence. They're _Sisters_. You know, nuns," Steve replied using both hands to either mimic Pippi Longstocking braids or the Flying Nun habit. Jensen assumed it was the latter.

Quirking an eyebrow, Jensen replied, "Huh." Then, "Please tell me you didn't-"

Steve looked offended. "No! Dude, they're nuns! Nuns are totally sacred."

"But you charmed them out of a discount, didn't you?"

"Discounts are not a sin," Steve grinned as he gestured for Jensen to climb the ramp first.

Jensen rolled his eyes and didn't answer. Instead he climbed the ramp into the private plane. The interior had been renovated to fit their special needs -- personal and expanding work areas, comfortable seating, a retractable flat screen for presentations as well as a mini-kitchen, which Steve kept stocked with delicacies from excursions around the world. 

The two spent the next twenty minutes discussing the best places for drop offs and pickups and finally agreed on a Guatemalan drop off three hours South of the compound in Mexico, giving them an opportunity to hopefully approach without setting off any chatter or gossips concerning an uncharted plane. Steve wouldn't be able to just wait there for them to grab and dash. Therefore, Jensen and Steve made arrangements to meet at the end of the fourth day in Ciudad del Carmen, Mexico on the Gulf Coast, well north of the compound.

Once Steve went to the cabin to file the flight plan, Katie appeared with the mission packets -- essentially memory cards for every one's technology of choice, except Jensen who still preferred dead tree copies. "I have to warn you," she said, holding a thick expanding folder just out of Jensen's reach. "Aldis and Misha have already picked the code name for the target."

With a cup of the most perfect coffee known to man half an inch from his mouth, Jensen was about to shrug off her comment, when something in her tone triggered a flashback to Misha and Aldis dancing topless on a bar while drunkenly singing "House Rules" in Klingon. He grimaced. "Oh, God."

Grinning with evil perkiness, Katie let him yank the folder out of his hand.

He peaked inside the front cover. "Kent?"

"As in Clark Kent?" She quirked an eyebrow.

Jensen rolled his eyes.

"You're lucky. Danni stopped them from calling him 'Supes'; as it is, Mama Clarke is code named 'Martha' and Padalecki is 'Falcone'."

Jensen dropped the folder on his mini-table and slapped a hand over his face. "Please don't tell me-"

"There's a list of DC Comics bad guy names in there as suggestions for-"

"No."

"Well, you get to be the one to burst their bubble, Lex," she smirked.

Jensen glared at her, sharing a gesture his mama would have tanned his hide for directing toward a lady, though he would have argued that Katie wasn't a lady...well, not on missions anyway.

Grinning, Katie moved away to continue preparing for takeoff, because from the moment the Barbara Ann took off, everything would be different. Code names and aliases would be in use until the end of the mission. The first hour in-flight was always "quiet time", everyone reviewing the data with their own specialty in mind; Jensen would then layout the options and they'd have the outlines of several plans before they landed.

* * *

## Dr. Eric Kripke's Office, L.A.

"Who did you say you were again?" the receptionist asked again.

She fished her wallet out of her pocket and flipped it open to show the pretty blonde who easily could have been one of the starlet clientele. "Danneel Harris."

The receptionist peered skeptically at the private investigator's license before raising her blue eyes to glare at Danneel.

Danneel flipped the wallet shut before she stuffed it back into her pocket. She was rather proud of that license. It had gotten her into far more doors than her journalist's badge. Quite frankly, she'd earned both the hard way and was still underestimated by most people. "Dr. Kripke is expecting me."

"You don't have an appointment," she replied, folding her arms across her shapely chest. She squared her shoulders, smirking a little just to show she enjoyed her position as gatekeeper to the great and powerful OZ.

"Not that kind of an appointment, but he _is_ expecting me," Danneel replied without changing her tone. "I'm investigating the kidnapping of one of his patients, and you are obstructing said investigation." She pulled out her pocket notebook and pen. "What's your last name, Amy?" Danneel already had Amy Gumenick's number – her phone number, street number, driver's license number, social security number and more – in fact, Misha was compiling dossiers on the entire staff in Kripke's office, at CareCorp, and also those in Melinda Clarke's entourage.

"It's okay, Amy. Miss Harris?" a brunette in a pantsuit interrupted.

Danni looked up from her notebook and smiled warmly at the new arrival. "Yes?"

Smiling in return, she held out her hand. "I'm Sera, Dr. Kripke's assistant."

Danni shook her hand. "Good to meet you."

"Why don't you come this way? Dr. Kripke's in with a patient. You know, he's trying to meet with you between patients as a favor to the Clarkes," she said the last part in a hurried way as if letting Danni in on a secret. "But you can wait in his office." Sera Gamble led Danni through the maze of hallways that make up every doctor's offices.

Sera led Danni into an office that looked more like Steven Speilberg’s home office. Framed vintage posters from B monster movies covered the walls and action figures and robots occupied the same shelves as medical tomes; Comic books mixed amongst the most recent copies of open medical journals on the desk and the end table between two worn leather chairs. 

Through a specially made hidden gadget in her ear, she heard Misha gasp and then suppress a squeal by muting the microphone on his side of the line. She imagined he was cursing his luck that he had stayed behind in the Bat Cave. Maybe he was cataloging every little geek collectible he could see through the little American Flag pin on her lapel.

When Sera saw what she assumed was an awed expression on Danni’s face, she fondly said, “It was either pre-med or theater, and his father put his foot down on ‘those fanciful ideas in his head that would have left him in the poor house.’” She shrugged.

“Huh,” Danni replied.

“Do you want some coffee? Water?”

Danni shook her head. “No, thank you.”

“Oh, ladies, perfect timing,” Dr. Kripke interrupted. 

Danni turned to see him entering through the door on the other side of the room. He wasn’t much taller than her with grey-green eyes and kept his dark brown hair cut close to his head, which in her mind didn’t look particularly sexy with his widow’s peak and high forehead. He was wearing a long, white doctor’s coat over a pair of Khaki Dockers and an untucked, blue and white striped button-up over a navy blue t-shirt. He had on navy blue Converse to complete the big kid look. Big kid because he was in his late 30’s and he was definitely still dressing like he lived in his parent’s basement and had never gotten to first base with a girl.

“Dr. Kripke.” She held out her hand and plastered her best charming smile on her face.

“Oh, please, call me, Eric,” he told her, crossing the room. Smiling, he lifted her hand to his lips.

In her peripheral vision, Danni caught Sera rolling her eyes. Stifling a giggle so her lips curled in the corners, a look that could easily be mistaken for flattered and bemused, she said, “All right, then. Only if you call me, Danni.”

“As you wish, of course,” he grinned. He turned to Sera handing her the thick medical file in his hand. “Have Nurse Smith call in Mr. Sheen’s prescription refills, Sera, please?”

She yanked the medical file out of his hand with a glare and then spun on her heels. She quickly stalked out of the room without a word.

“Now, why don’t you have a seat, Danni, and explain to me what this is about? I’m afraid I only have a few minutes. I have another appointment.” He appeared apologetic.

She nodded her understanding. “I appreciate that.” She moved to sit in the chair in front of his desk as she watched him practically bounce around to his chair and plop down. “Thank you for agreeing to squeeze me in on such short notice.”

“Well, Mel is a good friend, not just a patient. I want to do anything I can to help find J.T.” He tilted his head and looked at her questioningly. “She does know you’re here, doesn’t she?”

Danni smiled politely. “We at GSC find the investigations work best for everyone involved if our clients aren’t involved in the minute details.” Or, rather, the information flowed more freely when clients didn’t interfere by making some avenues “off-limits” or “protecting” people who would otherwise reveal valuable leads.

Nodding, he leaned back in his chair, resting one ankle on the opposite knee. He rested his elbows on the armrests and steepled his fingers in front of him. “Well, what is it that you want to discuss? You know I can’t discuss anything in J.T.’s medical record,” he added quickly.

She nodded as she settled back into the comfortable chair. “That’s all right. I’m not interested in the specifics of his medical history, but I am interested in the file itself.”

Intrigued, Kripke raised an eyebrow. “I don’t understand. What does J.T.’s medical file have to do with his kidnapping?”

Danni folded her hands in her lap, watching him carefully. She knew Misha was too, unless his inner-twelve year-old geek was still drooling over the mint condition She-Ra action figure on the desk in front of her. “Well, now, that sort of depends. You _did_ make a medical recommendation of an extended rest stay at a health resort; is that true?”

He bit on his bottom lip but he nodded. His brow was furrowed as he tried to follow her line of questioning to its end. “Yes.” He leaned forward, dropping his arms on the desk. “He’s been overworking himself for years, and I’ve been recommending a vacation for years. When he broke his leg a few months ago, I thought he’d finally slow down for a bit.” He shook his head. “But he didn’t…look, I can’t go into the details, but I wasn’t going to approve any more travel for him, no preventatives, no vaccines, nothing for his visas and all until he spent some time on hiatus.”

Danni nodded thoughtfully. “And this resort?”

He shrugged. “It’s one of about ten or twelve I recommend to my patients every year, depending on what their needs are. I mean, I have certain ones for rehab and others for weight issues and some just for stress recovery…”

“And this one is one you use for stress recovery?”

“Yeah, been to it myself. Best mojitos this side of Cuba,” he smiled flirtatiously.

Danni ignored the smile. “And who else knew you were sending J.T. there?”

Kripke frowned. “Why?...You don’t think someone _here_ \--? No one here would do anything to J.T. I told you, Mel is a good friend. The staff _loves_ J.T. Anyone who’s ever met J.T. can’t help but be charmed by him. It’s like his secret super-power or something. One smile with those dimples and Amy practically falls all over herself to help him – not that the boy would notice – and you’ve met _Amy_ right? She’s both drop-dead gorgeous and the ice queen gatekeeper…” When he realized he was rambling he stuttered to a stop. “I’m sorry. Where were we?”

“You were telling me who else knew you were sending J.T. to the resort in Mexico?”

Frowning, Kripke sat back in his chair and stared at the red head. He sighed, scratching his cheek. “Almost anyone in the office, I suppose. My head nurse Samantha Smith…” He shrugged. “Sera…both help with the charting. I would have asked one of them to call the travel agency to arrange the trip for J.T.”

Danni pulled out her notebook and pen. “Which travel agency is that?”

“Starlite Travels. Over on Vine.”

“Actually…” Sera interrupted from the door behind Danni.

Danni quirked an eyebrow as she turned to see the assistant lurking in the doorway.

Blushing a little at having been caught eavesdropping, she stepped into the room. “J.T. didn’t use Starlite. CareCorp has an exclusive contract with their own travel agency. I gave all of the info to Alona and she forwarded it to them.”

Eric’s frown deepened. He hated when things in his office weren’t done the usual way and no one told him. Mostly he hated the way Samantha and Sera did things behind his back and thought he didn’t need to know. He was the boss, damn it. They treated him as if they were just humoring him some days. It was his name on the door!

Danni tilted her head and considered Sera’s words. She glanced back to Kripke. “Did anyone in your office know when Mr. Clarke was going to be staying at the resort or were you just aware he was going at some time?” She gestured to indicate it was an arbitrary time.

Eric broke from his annoyed reverie and blinked at Danni. He shrugged. “I knew. My wife and I had dinner with Mel and some friends several nights before J.T.’s trip. Mel was relieved he was taking some time off.”

Danni sat up straighter and leaned toward Kripke. “Ms. Clarke talked about the trip with everyone at dinner?”

Contemplating the question, Kripke tilted his head. He nodded and shook his head. “Kind of but not specifically. She thanked me for helping her get J.T. to finally take some time off, and everyone joked about it, making bets whether or not J.T. would really go. I think there was some talk about where he might go, but she was tight-lipped, which isn’t unusual. She doesn’t usually say where she vacations either.”

Danni put her notebook in front of Kripke. “Can you please write the names of everyone who was at the dinner that night?”

“Sure. Anything to help.”

* * *

## unnamed landing strip  
North Guatemala, about 100 miles south of Mexico

America Ferrera leaned against the SUV as she waited for yet another overconfident gringo with more money than he knew what to do with and too much time on his hands. Private plane, pretty young thing at his side, secretary on the phone to do his bidding -- this guy was just a ransom waiting to happen in a place like this. 

He clearly thought he was all that too with his over-compensating belt buckle, cowboy boots, aviators, and black Stetson. He approached her with a swagger and tipped his hat in greeting. Maybe someone less jaded would have fallen for his woman-charming smile, but she was immune to pink supple lips, perfect teeth and freckles, not like those American Betty's drooling all over plastic heart throbs.

"Miss Ferrera?" he drawled, hand held out in a friendly gesture.

"Señor Priestly?" she asked shaking his hand curtly.

"Awww, my father's Señor, right? Just call me Tex," he replied flirtatiously. 

A blond woman in the tight pink, low-cut shirt suddenly appeared at Tex's side. She eyed up Ferrera distrustfully, jealously even, as she slid herself under Tex's arm. She blew a big pink sticky bubble. 

Tex grinned looking down at her. "And this here's my girl, Ruby -- you know, like the song? _Don't take your love to town..._ ," he sang.

"Te-ex," Ruby whined. She smacked him in the chest with the back of her hand. "You know I hate that."

With a shit-eating grin, he just winked mischievously at Ferrera. 

Another man appeared to Tex's left -- blue jean jacket, hiking boots, tight black t-shirt. He was shorter than the Texan but he made up for it in a stockier, muscular build. He wore his light brown hair long and loose around his shoulders, but his expression and his stance were like a rubber band pulled tight. He folded his arms across his sculpted chest.

"Hon, why don't you go tell Py where to put your luggage while I pay the nice lady?" Tex said, kissing Ruby on the top of her head.

She made a whining sound, but pushed away. "Fine," she said in her sweet Southern Belle accent. "If only so's he won't misplace my damn Nora Roberts again." Throwing a jealous look over her shoulder as she walked away, she blew a large bubble and then popped it with her tongue. Sucking the pink gum back into her mouth, she headed back to the ramp where a tall black man dressed in black jeans and a black t-shirt was unloading duffel bags with the help of a man in a Hawaiian shirt and khaki shorts.

" _Ain't she sweet?_ " Tex sang lowly as he watched her go, before turning back to the unhappy, well-endowed beauty before him. "So, Miss Ferrera? What's the damage?" the Texan drawled.

Frowning at him, she pushed her black hair out of her eyes. Somehow, she didn't think she was going to see her SUVs again. She just had a feeling. Chewing on her bottom lip, she said, "Woman on the phone said you needed two vehicles for five days." She put a hand on her slightly angled hip.

"Give or take a day," the man with the hair replied. He too had a slightly Southwestern accent.

"And no itinerary," she said with disapproval.

"The missus an' I like to be spontaneous on our holidays," Tex said with a playful wink. "We don't like t' be tied down...well, not to schedules anyway," he added with a smirk.

Ferrera ignored his lecherous remark. "She said you want to do everything with cash -- no credit. So I'm gonna need a good faith payment."

Tex nodded. "No problem, honey." He pulled a roll of cash from inside his jacket.

Yeah, she was never going to see those SUVs again. They haggled over the cost before settling on a price. 

Then Tex counted out the bills before handing them to her.

"How much is it gonna cost for you to forget to mention to your friends about the four stupid gringos driving your SUVs?" The Guy with the Hair asked all throaty and serious.

"Excuse me?" she asked, sounding genuinely surprised.

"Oh, yeah, this here's one of my bodyguards," he gestured at the man by way of introduction. "He seems to think you're plotting with your friends to get us held for ransom like you always hear 'bout happenin' down here, but I told him a nice girl like you would be too smart t' do somethin' like that knowing the kind of men you'd be dealing with."

At that the two men casually held open one side of their jackets to show holstered guns.

Ferrera's eyes widened and her mouth dropped a bit.

Tex grinned at her as he slid the remaining money back into the inner pocket of his jacket. "Now, see, Bull, I told you she'd see things our way."

Glaring at her with icy blue eyes, Bull grunted. "Don't make me come back to check we understood each other," he told her.

She nodded wordlessly, handing him the keys.

* * *

"I think you two get off scaring the shit out of people," Steve remarked as he tossed the last of the gear to Jensen from the plane.

"What the hell are you talking about?" " _Now"_ hung silently in the air. Only one side of Chris' nose was crinkled upward in his pre-bicker sneer.

Not bothering to suppress his amusement, Jensen ducked his head as he carried the equipment to the back of one of the SUVs.

"I'm saying," Steve bit out through gritted teeth, "that you went out of your way to play mind games with that chick and then you just ended up threatening her to keep her mouth shut."

"She was gonna tip off some thugs that we were some easy marks to ransom!" Chris argued, voice rising unnecessarily, arms gesturing wildly. His tone was like a whiny teenager's "duh!"

"But you knew that before you got off the plane," Steve replied calmly. "You three didn't have to go through the whole billionaire-playboy-slutty-girlfriend-"

"Hey!" Katie interrupted, sounding insulted. " _Jealous_ not _slutty_!"

Steve shrugged. "Anyway, what was the point? Why not just rent the cars and get on with it?"

"Because now when she _does_ talk to her friends about the Americans she rented her SUVs to, she's not going to say anything about the four mysterious mercs," Jensen replied, leaning against the bumper of the SUV.

"Naw, she's gonna to tell them about the four crazy-ass gringos who're probably here to buy drugs," Aldis laughed and low-fived Chris with a grin.

Steve blinked and then grinned too. "Niiiice," he nodded.

"All right, babe, let's get this road on the show," Jensen said, motioning for Katie to come with him. "See ya in four days, Ventura."

"Good luck, Tex," Steve chuckled as he watched Katie slide under Jensen's arm and tell him that she really didn't like it when he called her "Ruby". Aldis and Chris began arguing over whom was going to drive the other SUV, which ended to Aldis in a headlock.


	4. Chapter Three: Things Are Kind of Hazy

# Chapter Three: Things Are Kind of Hazy

_Am I dreaming, baby,  
Are you for real?  
Things are kind of hazy,  
And my head's all cloudy inside.  
Now I've heard talk of angels, baby,  
But never thought I would have one to call mine.  
\-- Xscape,_ Am I Dreamin'

## Eight Days Since Abduction  
Jacob Vargas' Mansion  
The Corazon Muertos Cartel, Mexico

Jay stretched his long legs under the mammoth cherry wood table, but no matter how he arranged himself, he just couldn't get comfortable. His limbs felt heavy; his brain, weightless. Heat crawled along his skin making him twitchy. He sported fresh bruises since his talk with Vargas, but so did his assigned thugs, Luis and Chuy; overall, he was pretty pleased with his handiwork.

High heels clicking on the ceramic tile floor drew his attention to the dining room's furthest doorway. Jessica Alba, wearing a clingy black cocktail dress, appeared in the doorway. The kind of woman used to turning heads, she had dark hair, dark eyes, and tanned, flawless skin. Nearly a foot shorter, her stiletto heels almost made up the difference, making her shapely legs appear that much longer.

He cringed inwardly. 

Her eyes flickered over to Chuy, standing near the wall, and back to Jay. Her dark glossy lips curled into a coy smile. "Well, well, hello, J.T.," she said in that little girl voice some women think is sexy, as she sashayed toward him.

"Clarke," he corrected. He watched her warily.

She skimmed a finger across his broad shoulders as she walked behind him. When she reappeared in his line of sight, she was wearing a slight pout. "I thought we discussed that already."

Everywhere she touched left a trail of itch. "We did, but not all of us were listening," he replied. He worked to keep his expression neutral; not an easy task when he felt so disconnected. 

"Aww, now, there's no harm in being friendly, is there?" she slid his chair back from the table easily. For a petite woman, she was hiding some serious strength.

He shook his head. "That's the first thing they teach you in Beverly Hills prep school, you know? Hostage Etiquette 101 -- don't get friendly with your kidnappers; leads to Stockholm Syndrome," he bullshitted. He'd been home-schooled most of the time and really, he had no idea what the recommended behavior was for this sort of situation, but he didn't want to be friendly with her or anyone here, especially her idea of friendly. It reminded him of when he thought girls had cooties. If any girl had cooties, she did.

She straddled his lap. He didn't have to look down to know how revealing the position would be with her short skirt pushed up. She draped her arms over his shoulders and graced him with a sultry smile. "I'm not your kidnapper."

"You work for him," he replied, eyes focused on her face; his arms dangled at his sides.

"That doesn't mean we can't make the most of the situation," she replied, voice low and sultry. "I can make things easier for you, more...pleasant." Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she gyrated her hips so she ground down into his lap. Her smile slowly faded away with disappointment even as his lips curled into a lopsided smirk.

"Bad girls don't do _anything_ for me," he said confidently after a minute went by and she had the chance to realize her ministrations had garnered absolutely no interest. Actually, Jay was extremely impressed with his self-control. True, he had absolutely no sexual interest in women but his dick hadn't even taken a reflexive fascination in the friction going on down there. Quite frankly, it had been a long time since there had been any friction of a sexual nature going on anywhere near that area; he was almost surprised his dick hadn't abandoned ship and turned traitor. In fact, he was so proud of its cooperation --or lack thereof -- that he made silent promises that as soon as they were out of this mess, they would most definitely have lots and lots of gay sex. He was going to make that one of his priorities: more sex, less work.

Insulted, Alba huffed. She shoved his chest as she pushed herself up and off him. She'd shoved him hard enough to bruise and force the air out of his lungs. Hearing his uncomfortable cough, she smiled as she straightened her skirt.

Voices drifted in from the hall. Vargas' most trusted, loyal men and their wives and girlfriend began filling the room. Alba glared one last time at him before moving away to mingle with her peers. All of them politely, almost reverently called her "Dr. Jessica" or simply "Doctor" as if the title were akin to royalty. She wasn't a medical doctor, but a chemist, and Vargas' claim to power in the Cartel.

Closing his eyes, Jay let out a calming breath. The room filed with Spanish chatter and laughter. He grew frustrated trying to keep up with any of the conversations in the room; they were all spoken too fast for his limited Spanish. Instead, he grabbed the edge of the table in front of him and pulled himself back to where he'd been unceremoniously been dumped earlier. No one spoke to him as they gathered and drifted to their own seats around the table. In fact, they seemed to pretend he wasn't there, which was fine with him. He wished he wasn't there too. He'd rather be anywhere else. Heck, he'd rather be back in Afghanistan dealing with that warlord. At least then he was doing something productive _and_ the warlord had seemed pretty reasonable all things considered.

With a stunning, seventeen year-old girl hanging on his arm, Vargas entered the room after everyone else. He made his rounds, greeting everyone with a big smile, talking business with his men, while his wife or mistress chatted with the other women in a terribly stereotypical machismo division of gender roles. Alba was the only one who broke the mold.

To his surprise, Vargas led a prayer before the kitchen staff began to serve the first course. Jay thought the whole thing was absolutely ludicrous but he tried not to fidget in his seat while the drug dealer thanked the Lord for everything He had given the family and his men's families. As the servants set the dishes at each place setting, Jay became aware of Vargas' unhappy stare.

"When my staff told me you declined to dress for dinner, Mr. Clarke, I didn't believe them," Vargas directed at Jay in his thick Mexican accent.

"I'm not naked or anything," Jay replied reflexively with a hint of petulance in his voice, almost sounding as if this was a tired argument. Everyone at the table was dressed as if they were attending one of his mother's fancy dinner parties. The men wore suits; the women, dinner or cocktail dresses. However, Jay was wearing a fresh pair of blue jeans, split up part of the right leg to accommodate the cast, and a crisply ironed white Oxford shirt, untucked, with the sleeves rolled up mid-forearm, and unbuttoned at the neck.

Vargas' eyes narrowed as his displeasure deepened. "Don't speak like a child; it's beneath someone of your status."

Jay frowned and clenched his teeth, refusing to respond.

"In this house, we dress for dinner," Vargas informed him with an air of authority that indicated he was not accustomed to being disobeyed.

"For me? This _is_ dressed," he replied. He only put on a suit for his mother, though on occasion, Alona, who somehow had his mother's authority by proxy, managed to bully him into a suit jacket over whatever shirt he was wearing. He didn't know how that proxy thing worked yet, but he meant to bring it up with that therapist . "I mean, this is dressier than what I wore to the G8 Summit on global warming. The French Prime Minister even asked where I got my hoodie -- because, you know, I only wear all-natural, organic, free-trade clothes and they're so soft and colored with these plant dyes instead of chemicals, which is important because-"

"Enough!" Vargas slammed his hand down on the table to pull Jay out of his ramble.

Jay blinked, eyes a little wide, and let go of his collar which he had been absently rubbing between two fingers. The brain fog had helped him trip down memory lane, but he wasn't sorry. A ghost of a smile traced his lips at Vargas' frustration.

"I don't care what you do anywhere else. This is my house and you're a guest here and we dress for dinner. You will dress for dinner as is appropriate." Vargas punctuated each word as if he meant for them to be the final say in the manner.

"I'm not a guest," Jay quipped. "Guests can leave. Guests arrive of their own volition and leave when they want. I'm not a guest."

Everyone else at the table sat in shaky silence. No one even dared to move his or her forks.

Vargas' face turned red with anger. He tossed his napkin on his plate and rose to his feet. The action caused his woman to flinch. He strode around the table to Jay, who sat perfectly still, keeping his eyes on the decoration in the middle of the table. Vargas backhanded him hard. Hard enough for him to taste the coppery thick liquid in his mouth as he found himself on the floor behind the chair of the person who'd been next to him.

"If you insist on behaving like an ungrateful, disrespectful victim, then you will be treated like one," Vargas told him coldly. Vargas didn't even look over at the guard. He simply said, "Get him out of here...and let him skip dinner tonight." He kicked Jay in the abdomen once to emphasize his point.

Jay yelped at the kick though he'd managed to keep his noise level to grunts when Vargas hit him and when he hit the floor. He wrapped an arm around his stomach as he spit the blood from his bitten cheek onto the wood floor. He felt Chuy grab the back of his shirt and haul him upward in one motion. Suddenly he felt dizzy and nauseous all at once and it was all he could hope not to throw up in front of his captor and his dinner party.

* * *

## Nine Days Since Abduction  
GSC L.A. H.Q., "Bat Cave"

"Where are we on the leak?"

Misha and Danni both looked up from their focused task at the unusual fatigued, yet, snappish tone in their fearless leader's voice. Brows raised, Danni turned to look back at Misha in his fortress of terminals. Misha recognized the expression as a plea not to leave her out in the open as shark bait.

Misha cleared his throat. "Well, Miss Danneel has spoken to everyone from the dinner party who is in town..." He waited for Danni to nod in confirmation.

"I still have calls out to a couple who are on location, but Misha has done the preliminary background check on all of them."

"And they all look clean on the gloss over. I'm running a deeper check on their finances just in case."

Sam nodded absently as she strode through the room until she was between them. "So?...What does that mean? Another dead end?"

Danni glanced over at Misha and caught his eye. He gave her an encouraging nod and smile. She tilted her head back at him, silently telling him to mention it, but he shook his head subtly. He pointed at her over his monitor.

"All right, should I be asking for everyone to hand over the notes you've been passing or are you going to tell me what the hell you're talking about?" Samantha interrupted as she looked back and forth between them.

Misha glared at Danni.

Danni sighed and straightened her pony tail in her scrunchy. "Fine...we might have found something a little...weird."

Samantha looked intrigued. "Define weird."

"Coincidental," Misha supplied.

"I don't believe in coincidences," she replied, folding her arms across her chest.

"I know," Danni replied. "But this particular coincidence is just weird."

Sam gestured for the former journalist to continue.

"Misha?" Danni requested as she pointed to the LCD screens on the wall.

A few taps on Misha's part and the screens displayed scenes from CareCorp brochures, mostly involving travel. "For the past seven years CareCorp has had an exclusive contract with Globe International Travel. They handle everything from booking the flights, arranging the cars and hotels -- if there are hotels," Danni quickly added. "To what kind of companionship you'd like for dinner during your stay, wherever that is...Of course, maybe CareCorps employees don't exactly get the Platinum Card treatment. Clarke's deal with them was at a very low discount. They're making a ton of money on CareCorp because of the sheer volume but it's at rock bottom prices."

Samantha shook her head and shrugged. "Okay, so?"

Danni glanced at Misha for encouragement and he gave her a thumbs up. "Okay So, they have offices everywhere, right? London, Paris, Miami, New York, here, and so on, and six months ago the New York office gets this new hire Sophia Bush." A photo of a beautiful professional-looking young woman with dark hair and a winning smile appeared on the screen. It clearly had been taken from her Facebook or My Space pages since it looked like she was in some bar surrounded by similarly dressed young Americans imbibing in cocktails. "She built up a lot of business and put in for a transfer three months later so she could be closer to her new boyfriend..."

Misha's fingers danced on the keyboard and a second photo appeared of Ms. Sophia Bush. This time she was dressed more casually and her arms were wrapped around a grinning, squinty-eyed blond man, wearing the CareCorp team Baseball jersey and his hat on backwards. 

Danni continued, "CareCorp Vice President of Public Relations -- Chad Michael Murray."

Sam frowned as she rubbed the bridge of her nose between two fingers. "Okay, maybe I need some of Jensen's special coffee blend or something, but I don't see the weird in that. I don't even see the intriguing or naggingly coincidental."

"Yeah! I know! But, wait! _Misha_ ," Danni pleaded. 

"Okay, okay...so this was all Miss Danneel's idea, by the way. She had the Spidey Sense tingling thing," Misha assured Sam as he hurried on with the presentation. "I did a background check on Miss Bush and ran into some blocks."

"Blocks?" Sam repeated.

"Like incomplete records...whoever set it up meant for it to be temporary, and probably they didn't expect anyone to look at it too hard," Misha replied, as he typed away on his keyboards. Images popped up on the screens -- copies of birth certificates, IDs, fake and real.

"Bush is her mother's maiden name. Her father's name is Kuklinski," Danni added.

Startled, Sam spun on her heel and grabbed Danni's arm. "Kuklinski? Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I double checked," Danni grimaced. "And _that's_ where _the weird_ comes in. Sophia Kuklinski is Richard 'The Iceman' Kuklinski's cousin -- once or twice removed."

Frowning, glaring at the photo array in front of her, Samantha straightened her back and folded her arms across her chest again. Her mind was running in circles as she tried to follow the logic of the possible why's and the who's. It quickly became mind-numbing or, worse, mind shattering. Chewing on her bottom lip, she began to pace as she studied the images.

"None of this makes sense. Why would..." Shaking her head and sighing, Sam stopped in the middle of the room and said, "As loathsome as Gerald is I just can't imagine he would use J.T. in some mob plot."

Curling the end of her ponytail in between her fingers, Danni considered Sam's line of thinking. "Maybe... he doesn't know?"

Frowning even more, Sam turned tired eyes on Danni and then glanced at Misha. "Be careful where you tread, my friends." The warning was deadly serious in nature; yet, at the same time it was a blessing. "Jensen was right. These are dangerous people."

* * *

## Ten Days Since Abduction  
near Jacob Vargas' Compound  
The Corazon Muertos Cartel, Mexico

"You know, it all comes down to six possible scenarios," Chris' husky voice whispered in Jensen's ear from somewhere in the dark on the other side of the drug lord's well-guarded compound.

Jensen dropped the night vision binoculars half an inch to glare at the bodiless Chris in his head. Frowning, when he realized his teammate was waiting for acknowledgement, Jensen sighed. He settled again on the small hill overlooking the front gate and a planted field of poppies, growing outside the walls. "What're you going on about now?" He returned to the job of scanning Vargas' men as they listlessly patrolled the grounds. They’d be on duty between one and five in the morning if last night and this one were any indication.

"I'm just saying, we have two basic entrance strategies and two basic exit strategies. When you look at the possible combinations, there are only six. So, it's a matter of you deciding which of those you think works best for this situation. The rest is really ad lib." Short breaths broke up Chris' words as if he were running or climbing. There were rocks and trees on the other side of the compound so Jensen couldn't guess straight out.

"There are more than two-"

"Nope, there are just two each if you really think about it."

Jensen was silent while he mulled over Chris' words and mentally made note of two scantily clad women hurrying across the open courtyard from the barracks to the servants' quarters. As he climbed to his feet to move to a different position, he asked, "Okay, I give, what are these basic entrance and exit strategies?"

Chris chuckled over the comm. "We can either sneak in under their radar so no one realizes we've arrived or make an explosive entrance where everyone knows we've arrived -- that's the two entrances, and we can either sneak out so quiet no one knows we're gone or we can-"

"Leave a huge mess in our wake like a tornado hit them," Jensen finished for him.

"Right, and when you mix and match, you get six possible scenarios. So the question you have to ask yourself, _Tex_ , is how are we going to play this? Are we going to sweep in and finagle Kent out without anyone being the wiser, or are we going to kick down the front door and blow out the back door when we grab his ass?"

Chewing his bottom lip, Jensen shook his head. "No, I think we'll end up with plan C."

"Sneak in the back door and shoot our way out the front?"

"Yeah, that sounds like the one," Jensen smirked.

"Good, that's my favorite anyway."

"You just like it when you get it you get to punch people."

"My therapist says it's cathartic."

Jensen chuckled softy. "All right, now shut up for twenty minutes. I want a closer look, and you yammering in my ear is just going to distract me."

"Fine. Just keep in mind you have forty-five to shift change, if they repeat yesterday," Chris reminded him.

"Got it," Jensen replied as he checked his watch. He slid the binoculars into his backpack and squatted, ready to creep low along the landscape toward the structure. There were three tactical weak points for possible entry and he wanted to verify they would be more vulnerable at this time of night.

So far, they hadn't been able to pin down an exact location of where the target was being kept, only that he was somewhere in the main house, where the drug lord and his family lived. 

In the afternoon, Jensen and Katie had spied the kid -- _Clarke_ , he really wasn't a kid -- when two of Vargas' men, one with a bandage around his head, literally dragged him out of the house and unceremoniously dumped him in front of Vargas. Vargas had been overseeing some part of his drug shipping operation near one of the warehouses. The kid -- _Clarke_ \-- had landed hands and face in the dirt. Even when he raised his head, his face looked stubbornly defiant, which considering the bruising on his face and arms and the fact that he was still lugging around a cast with a useless leg in it, was pretty damned ballsy in Jensen's opinion; Jensen was pretty damned proud of the --Clarke, , no -Kent.

Katie had done her linguistics-lip-reading trick through her binoculars, giving him a blow by blow of the conversation or rather her exciting translation of it, enough for Jensen to get the gist. Vargas wanted to know if Clarke was ready to behave like a man of his station. Clarke replied with something about how Vargas and Padalecki -- didn't even refer to the man as his father -- might be using him as a piece in their game but damned if he was going to play make believe like Vargas was some medieval lord and he was the 'fostered' son just to keep a tentative civilized peace. Jensen really thought Clarke was giving Vargas too much credit in the comparison, but whatever. Maybe that's why Clarke was the CEO and Jensen was the mercenary.

It pissed off Vargas and earned Clarke another beating. It was all Jensen could do to stay put. It was completely against all of his training not to act, not to save someone from being hurt. He forced himself to watch it, not to look away, because he couldn't help right then. He'd bit his bottom lip until it bled, watching the young man whose photos he'd stared at for hours the last two days, whose bio he'd memorized, whose only crime appeared to be that his mother had bad taste in men -- and really, who didn't?

* * *

##  F.B.I. Wire Tap# PAD-J-201204030238  
New York City, NY

_"Everything is arranged, sir."_

_"Excellent. Thank you, son. I knew I could count on you."_

_"...Dad? Can I ask...why the sudden push for this meet?"_

A heavy sigh over the phone line. _"It's just something that needs to be done, Jeff."_

_"But...I thought...look, Dad, maybe if you explained to me why, I can explain to some of the others. Because no one wants the Cartel here."_

_"It's okay, son. It's just a courtesy. They'll make their offer. No one has to agree to anything. All I agreed to was to listen. You understand?"_

_"No, sir, I don't, honestly, and I feel I should warn you, there's a lot of disgruntled whispers. You took off with no notice, and then you drop this bomb and you aren't even here to handle the meet..."_

_"I'm handling other important business, Jeff."_

_"You're with them, aren't you?"_

Another heavy sigh. _"I'm not going to have that argument with you again now. This is definitely not the time for misplaced jealousy you have for someone I haven't seen in nearly twenty years, who doesn't want anything to do with me anyway; do you understand me, Jeff?"_

_"Yes, sir..."_

* * *

## Jacob Vargas' Mansion  
The Corazon Muertos Cartel, Mexico

Jensen couldn't believe his luck. He'd not only managed to get close enough to scout out three possible entry points for the four of them, but he'd managed to piggyback onto an inbound transport carrying supplies -- manure by the smell of it. Once inside the compound, he was able to sneak into the main house so he could attempt to scout out where they were keeping Clarke.

_Goddamn._ It couldn't be this easy.

For the most part, the guards appeared to be posted at intervals around the outside on both the first and second floors. Once he slipped past those into the dimly lit halls, the house itself was quiet. A few servants had quarters near the kitchen but he was quick to steer clear of that area. The rest of the first floor was living space: the dining room, Vargas' office, a playroom for the children, a family room, a parlor, and those sorts of things. Jensen was still unhappy there were children on site. They were just as innocent in this as Clarke.

He slipped up one of the side stairways to the second floor, avoiding the very open spiral stairwell in the center of the building. He came out on the Eastern Wing of the house. Things got a little trickier here. He knew from the floor plans Misha had procured that there were two main hallways: one that ran the length of the mansion from East to West, and one branched northbound where the East and West Wings met at the spiral stairwell in the middle. Smaller hallways split off at random intervals to spider-web through the second floor. Vargas and his family resided in the North Wing. The team's observations placed most of the residents on the West end of the house, and Jensen's gut told him Vargas wouldn't keep a hostage near his family or in a high traffic zone where people might overhear or see. Oh, sure, he might trot the prize out every now and then to show off, but a constant reminder might make people less inclined to remember him as father, benefactor, leader instead of criminal, torturer, drug lord.

Jensen listened to the sounds in the rooms around him as he quietly slipped around a corner into an empty hallway. Halfway down, there was another hall that broke off perpendicular to the left. He was easing up to the corner to take a peek around it when he heard the soft click of a doorknob turning, then the scrape of wood on wood as the door dragged against the hardwood floor in the humid heat. A mumble of voices and the pad of feet in the hall got Jensen's heart rate racing.

Green eyes flickered to the gun weighing heavy in his hands and then back the way he'd come. He definitely wasn't ready to make contact with the enemy. Hell, he wasn't even supposed to _be_ here. _Shit_. _FuckFuckFuckFuck._

Jensen ignored the little voice in his head -- because it was Chris asking if something was wrong -- and moved as silently as his 6'1" muscular frame could take him at a near run down the hall to a door he'd seen left ajar and slipped inside. 

Only after he was pressed flat against the wall behind the door, breathing calming breaths, did he take a moment to look around the small...bathroom. The near full moon trickled in through two tiny windows near the ceiling, giving just enough light for Jensen to see that as far as mansion bathrooms went, it wasn't any nicer than the one in his apartment. An oval mirror hung on the wall over an old-fashioned podium washbowl sink standing next to a matching white ceramic toilet. On the back wall sat a claw-foot bathtub with a shower and an orange and red shower curtain. 

_Oh, God._ How had they managed to take a mission on the verge of a full moon? Jensen had known from the beginning that this whole thing was a bad idea. Now here he was. _Stupid. Stupid. Stupid._

The sounds of two people approaching grew louder. Jensen was forced to accept the very likely possibility that one of those people might want to actually...make use of this very bathroom. He inched toward the bathtub. He managed to get inside and pull the shower curtain around just as the footsteps stopped outside of the door.

"Hey, man," an American voice, deep, but sounding incredibly sluggish, came muffled through the cracked open door. "Come on, take these off for just a few?"

The grumbled response was too low for Jensen to understand.

"What'd'ya think I'm gonna do in there? Plan a great escape down the toilet?" The first voice, who Jensen now assumed had to be Clarke, giggled...like a girl...at that.

"Just hurry up," a thickly accented voice gruffly ordered.

The door fell open as Clarke stumbled into it and Jensen got his first up close look at the man. He had to bite his bottom lip not to make a sound as he peeked through the small space between the shower curtain and the wall. Clarke was only wearing loose jeans, hanging on his narrow hips. Every ripped muscle of his torso and arms were on display, and while covered in black and blue marks, he had obviously treated his body pretty well up until ten days ago. Not just his body either; underneath the swelling and the bruising and the busted lips, Jensen knew he had a beautiful face from the photographs. However, in person, it was entirely different. Katie called it "the movie star gene." Jensen had to admit that, whatever it was, Clarke was radiating it in spades without even directing it at anyone, without even knowing there was someone to radiate it at.

Jensen watched as still-handcuffed, Clarke braced himself on the washbowl and tried to maneuver around to the toilet without putting too much weight on the leg with the cast. Wincing and then feeling like a peeping Tom, Jensen turned his head as he heard the man undoing his pants. He closed his eyes and tried not to ponder if Clarke was proportional, because if he was... _damn_. After all, he had those big hands and those big feet and, God, those long fingers. Jensen squeezed his eyes shut tight and tried hard _not_ to think about any of that considering how especially inappropriate the timing truly was.

That's when he realized how quiet the room had gotten.

Wary of what he would see, he slowly turned his head back toward the peek space between the curtain and the wall. Clarke leaned against the sink, long fingers dripping water onto the bathroom floor as he gripped the sides of the washbowl, the handcuffs stretching to their limit. His hazel-green eyes blearily blinked at the moonlit reflection behind him.

Jensen's eyes widened as the panic that had calmed to a mere idle a few minutes ago began to rev up to full speed ahead when Clarke turned. Carefully balancing himself with one hand and his hip on the sink, Clarke was stared exactly where Jensen was staring back. Managing to keep his hand from trembling, Jensen used the hand without the gun to push the curtain open just a little and bring a single finger to his dry lips. He tried to offer what he hoped was a comforting smile that promised hope or something like that. Whatever. He wasn't good at that reassuring crap. That's what Katie was for. _Shit_.

Eyes never leaving Jensen's, Clarke limped forward, a ghost of a smile playing across those tender, pink, broken lips. Not enough of a smile for dimples but enough for Jensen to remember them from the photographs, to wish for them. Jensen licked his lips as his eyes flickered from Clarke's slightly unfocused eyes to his lips and back again.

If Chris hadn't heard everything clear enough to put two and two together, Jensen might have denied until his dying day that the next minute or so ever happened, that it was all one of J.T.'s drug-induced hallucinations. It was completely unprofessional and totally _fucking_ amazing.

Standing directly in front of him, Clarke pulled the shower curtain open and blinked at him. Clarke -- _J.T._ \-- reached up, taking Jensen's face in gentle, if damp, hands. His thumbs brushed Jensen's cheeks as his lips caressed Jensen's in a series of butterfly kisses until finally covering Jensen's mouth with intent. His tongue licked playfully at Jensen's bottom lip, causing Jensen to gasp. Looking pleased with himself, Clarke -- J.T. -- backed away, a move that might have looked smoother without the limp. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing his bangs out of his face and used the doorknob as leverage to pivot himself as he opened the door enough to slip back into the hall.

Jensen heard him say, "Man, there are some awesome hallucinations in that drug cocktail y'all're forcing on me." There was some sort of grunted response as J.T. -- because no one who he almost played tonsil hockey with should be called by his last name -- as J.T. was shoved down the hall back the way they came. Jensen stepped cautiously out of the tub. He could still hear J.T. rambling. "I mean, they're way better than that time when I had malaria. 'Cuz then I was mostly seeing giant lizards and flesh-eating spiders, and what isn't better than that, right?"

Jensen touched his still tingling lips and thought, " _I'm dead. No way is this going to end well._ " It was time to find his way out of this mansion, take a cold shower, and let Katie beat some sense into his head. A really long, cold shower.

* * *

## near Jacob Vargas' Compound  
The Corazon Muertos Cartel, Mexico

One weekend when Jensen was fourteen, he and his brother told their parents they were going to a church lock-in so they could drive into Dallas to see Aerosmith. It had been totally awesome until Josh's beat-up twenty-year-old pick-up overheated on the way back to Richardson at three a.m. on some dirt back road resembling your average slasher flick.

When Jensen returned to the rendezvous point, Chris was wearing the same angry expression Jensen's mom had on her face that morning, which really shouldn't have surprised Jensen since Chris had been literally growling responses as Jensen made his exit from the compound. Though Chris was shorter, when he was angry, standing with his legs shoulder-width apart, arms folded across his muscled chest, jaw clenched, blue eyes accusing, he was larger than life, looming, and scarier than a Pit Bull-Rottweiler mix foaming at the mouth.

Jensen decided the best response was avoidance of the real issue and distraction. "So, I found where they're keeping Kent," he said, using the stupid code name Misha and Aldis had picked for J.T.

"Yeah, I got that," Chris growled at him. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Jensen flinched because _that_ is exactly what his mom had said. "I -- uh -- " Jensen worried his bottom lip for a second, then decided to change strategies. He straightened his back and shouldered past Christ toward the SUV. "Nothing. I'm fine, okay?" Jensen replied gruffly. "No need for you to play mother hen."

Chris grabbed his arm and swung Jensen back around so they were almost nose to nose. "Mother hen? Shit, Tex, you're supposed to be the practical one here, remember? You don't go blind into a hornets nest like that without backup. Especially when there's a life at stake!"

" _I'm_ fine, Bull," Jensen replied, saying each word distinctly. His mossy green eyes revealing as much stubborn, alpha male testosterone as his partner's icy blue ones, as they stared each other down from a few inches apart. 

"I wasn't talking about _you_ , but since you mentioned it. What the fuck, Tex? You nearly blew the whole mission!" Chris growled at Jensen. "And you nearly got yourself fucking killed!" Chris shoved Jensen in the chest.

Jensen stumbled back a few steps. The Kevlar padding took part of the hit, but Jensen's brain registered that Chris hadn't shoved him nearly as hard as he could have. "But. I didn't. _And_ I managed to gather Intel we otherwise wouldn't have before tomorrow night," Jensen argued, righting himself and stupidly shoving back. "Someone needed to do it."

Chris literally growled as he stumbled back a few steps. He used the momentum to push back forward and shove Jensen harder, so he stumbled further back this time. "But it didn't have to be you, you moron. You're the leader; you're supposed to plan, and strategize and crap. _I'm_ supposed to do the stupid almost-get-killed stuff. That's my job."

Jensen pushed himself forward again and tackled Chris to the ground. Between panting breaths as he wrestled Chris, he said, "Sorry, I didn't realize you had a market share on moronicy."

The two wrestled for a few more minutes until Chris had the upper-hand. Jensen was on his stomach and Chris was straddling his waist, holding one arm behind Jensen's back and they were laughing. 

"Moronicy?" Chris laughed, repeating Jensen's made-up word, as he let go of his friend’s arm.

"It's a word..." Jensen replied, struggling to push up, but Chris remained seated. 

"Yeah...right," Chris laughed more.

"Get offa me," Jensen bucked, refusing to dignify the laughter with more argument, though he couldn't help but laugh too.

Chris rolled off him and said, "Dude, did you make out with the target in a bathroom?"

"What?" Jensen stilled. "N-no." Whatever they had been doing, J.T. _knew_ how to kiss and Jensen's brain was already on overdrive imagining what it would be like to have his tongue in his mouth, to have those lips on other parts of his body, to have his own lips on J.T.'s body... "No."


	5. Chapter Four: All In, Balls Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **Warning:** Please note that I feel this chapter contains one of the two most triggery scenes in a story with dark themes. Only if you have triggers that would keep you from reading, do I recommend you read the spoilers, however. That's why they are called _spoilers_.
> 
>  **Spoilers:** attempted non-con

# Chapter Four: All In, Balls Out

_Well it's midnight, damn right, we're wound up too tight  
I've got a fist full of whiskey, the bottle just bit me  
That shit makes me bat shit crazy  
We've got no fear, no doubt, all in balls out  
\-- Nickelback, _ Burn It To The Ground

## Eleven Days Since Abduction  
Jacob Vargas' Compound  
The Corazon Muertos Cartel, Mexico

Years ago, Katie Cassidy sat with her class in the auditorium of an overpopulated San Francisco public school and took one of those standardized career aptitude tests that guidance counselors are fond of using to pigeonhole students. No one suspected the 13-year-old high school junior was an espionage prodigious savant -- except, well, maybe the CIA. By twenty, she had earned a Master’s degree each in psychology and linguistics and had completed two Langley internships. By the time she went to work for GSC, most of her resume was classified.

Her job still required much of the same skillset: she rappelled off of skyscrapers, saw the inside of uncrack-able safes, translated the secret conversations of powerful men; she hid a semi-automatic under her skin-tight cocktail dresses; and she still knew five places to shoot a man that provided better Intel than any technique in Dick Cheney’s secret black book. 

Things were different too. Now, she had friends, people she could talk shop with, people she could trust. She also felt good about the jobs. 

Like this one. She liked rescues. She loved the anticipation and the build-up right up until they burst into action. 

The theme song to _Mission Impossible_ playing in an infinite loop in her head, Katie slowly lowered herself toward the ground. She grinned; only the four of them were crazy enough to be carrying backpacks full of C4 and firecrackers into a drug lord’s fortress in the middle of the night. As soon as her feet hit the ground she moved out of the way so Aldis could follow down the retractable cable. Her black gloved hand reached deep into the kangaroo pocket of her black zip-up jacket and pulled out a handful of grey, tack-sized objects. She began sticking them on the concrete wall beside her in random places even as she began creeping toward the drug-processing warehouse.

Chris hit the ground at the same time. He drew his gun to cover Aldis' and Jensen's descent. The United States Marines had invested heavily in his diverse training from amphibious operations to counter-terrorism, once they realized he was too much of a natural to be just a grunt on the front lines; Chris, however, found hands-on was a much more satisfactory method of dealing with life’s challenges. He was similarly dressed to Katie, but where she wore a backpack, he wore a custom designed battle holster that fit over both shoulders, crisscrossed across his back with support straps across his shoulder blades and chest, connecting at a belt around his waist. From it he could easily grab two M-45 MEUSOC pistols, two of his favorite combat knives, two throwing knives, and one Benelli M4 shotgun. While she wore her distinctive blond hair tucked tightly under a black skullcap, his brown hair was kept out of his face by a black bandanna.

Jensen and Aldis reached the ground about the same time and mirrored each other as they triggered their ropes to retract. Jensen nodded at Aldis and Katie and scurried after Chris toward the main house, pausing only a few times to reach into the kangaroo pocket of his jacket and place small grey tack-sized objects on the wall or scatter them on the ground behind them.

Aldis watched them for a few seconds before hefting his own backpack on his shoulders and then following Katie. When the Towers fell, Aldis had been studying Theater Stage Mechanics and Cinematography Special Effects at UCLA on The United States Army's dime, thanks to the National Guard. Next thing he knew he was defusing bombs in Afghanistan and helping the CIA make small battles look bigger, and bigger battles look like nothing. That's where he’d met Katie Cassidy, and though he didn't think so at the time, Katie turned out to be the best thing -- next to his girlfriend Beth, of course -- that ever happened to him. After all, he wouldn't be where he was today, if it weren't for her, and, yes, sneaking into a South American drug lab in the middle of the night with C4 and fireworks on his back _was_ a considerable improvement.

Katie carefully pushed the glass window up and, quiet as a cat burglar, lifted herself with the grace of a gymnast onto the windowsill, and then slowly slid down into the dimly lit room on the other side. Aldis, though quiet, was less graceful; there was no slow slide into the room, more like face first with gravity's full attention, and he might have bitten his tongue.

Katie rolled her eyes, and he looked sheepish. The Army hadn't trained him to be subtle. He had been trained to blow things up and to stop things from blowing up. People were supposed to take notice when he arrived.

As he got to his feet, he made gestures to Katie, indicating that she should go in one direction, and he would go in the other. They had already discussed the plan at length. It was all really very simple -- place as little C4 as possible in the places it would do the most damage.

* * *

## Jacob Vargas' Mansion  
The Corazon Muertos Cartel, Mexico

To his shame, Jay had moments where he wasn't sure lucidity was as desirable as he remembered. True, they were moments like this when the last dose of heroin was starting to clear his system, leaving him feeling raw and uncomfortable in his body. Invisible flames licked his skin, leaving an insatiable trail of itch over every inch of him, driving him a little more insane as each second ticked mindlessly by on the clock on the wall. Then there was the building ache in his broken leg as the jagged pain returned, stretching through his body, spreading through every new and old bruise from the last few weeks and culminating in a constant throb in his fevered brain that only intensified the queasiness that the heroin brought with it.

When Chuy and that Alba woman came for his nightly dose, he lay on the bed curled as tight as could get into the fetal position despite his unbendable leg cast. He wanted to fight them, though part of him really just _wanted_. 

The guards had finally wised up, were now using guns to control him. He was far more afraid of bullet wounds – bleeding out or becoming infected – than a beating. With a beating, he had a chance of giving as good as he got. It was harder to deal out a right hook to a bullet.

Everything went wrong this time.

They didn't cuff his hands around the top bar of the wrought iron headboard so Alba could tourniquet his arm to give him the injection. Instead, wearing a disturbing smile, _she_ handcuffed each wrist to a corner of the wrought iron detail. Then she walked his guard to the door and murmured to him in Spanish -- the only word he caught was "disturb."

He instinctively struggled against the handcuffs as she stood watching him after locking the door. She licked her lips hungrily and pulled the capped syringe from the pocket of her short blue dress as she sashayed to the bed. 

"How're you feeling, J.T.?" she said softly, managing to sound concerned. "I know I'm running a little late tonight coming to see you." She set the syringe on the bedside table and gently brushed his fever damp bangs back from his forehead.

Flinching, he turned away from her touch. Jay whimpered.

"I'm sorry 'bout that, baby," she soothed as she traced light fingers over the bare skin of his forearm and the taut bulge of his right bicep, making him shiver reflexively.

He closed his eyes, squeezing them tight. He tried to imagine the angel from last night's dreams: mossy green eyes and a perfectly kissable mouth on an impossibly beautiful masculine face -- his Guardian Angel, watching over him even here in Hell.

"I know you're probably hurting," Alba whispered, trying to sound comforting. She gently patted his fevered face and neck with a cool, damp cloth, offering momentary relief. "You must feel it in your bones by now…Do you, J.T.? Feel it in your bones?" she asked softly. "The _need_ for it, the _want_ , J.T.?"

He tried not to listen to her siren words. He tried to focus on the green eyes.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, she continued her ministrations. "Is it crawling under your skin? Burning you from the inside out? Making you restless, insatiable…You can almost taste it, can't you? I have what you need, J.T. I can give it to you." She leaned across him; chest inches above his face, and tortuously slow, she dragged her tongue across his left forearm.

Jay scrunched up his face. He supposed if it were someone else, _anyone_ else, it might have been a sexy move, but at the moment, he couldn't decide between wanting to throw up or burst into laughter. Instead, he made a strangled sound as he bit back a smart-ass remark and bit his bottom lip.

She sat up again and looked down at his face. When she saw his expression, she frowned. With a frustrated sigh, she grabbed the tourniquet and wrapped it quickly around his arm. "That's okay, baby. I've whipped up a special cocktail for you tonight, for _us_. You just lie back like a good little boy and try to enjoy yourself." With a wry smile, she picked up the syringe. After she removed the cap, she tapped the tip a few times until she saw a few drops of liquid appear.

Panic overriding the want, the need, the pain, Jay's eyes widened as they stared fixedly on the syringe. He desperately pulled at the handcuffs. "What? No! Get away from me!" His voice was hoarse. He inched his body away from hers as best he could in his awkward recumbent position. "D-don't touch me. Get away!"

As she slid the needle into his arm, she leaned forward and whispered into his ear, "The less you fight it, baby, the easier it'll go for you, and it'll be over before you know it." She leered. "Then again...don't go all pliant on me too soon. That would ruin some of my fun." She pulled the needle out once its contents were deployed.

Jay felt the warmth spreading through his body from the contact point, speeding through every vein with each pump of his heart. He tried to wedge himself against the wall, one arm stretched across the bed and one arm twisted up behind his head.

* * *

Jensen thought Chris might have gone a little overboard with the duct tape. Ever since he found three rolls of it in the utility room, he'd been using it to further incapacitate the knocked-out guards they were leaving in their wake. Granted, it did make a good gag as well as binding the legs and arms well, but Chris was just enjoying himself a little too much. The last two guards were left hogtied. Literally, hog tied. Jensen really didn't want to know where he learned how to do that, and he wanted to wash his mind out with acid after hearing Chris quote _Deliverance_ while he did it.

Jensen stood at the last turn leading to their target location. Still halfway down the hall, Chris kept his gun at the ready as he slowly backed his way toward Jensen. Jensen peeked around the corner, his own gun heavy in his hand. He wanted to smile, to let out the breath he had been holding at the serendipitous sight before him, but he knew better than to count any chickens before they were in the basket, safely out of the farm, on a plane to the States, and well hatched.

Two doors opened onto the hall. In front of one of them was a big wooden chair with a dozing, linebacker-sized Mexican in a suit. Propped against the wall next to him was a semi-automatic rifle.

Chris joined Jensen in looking around the corner. Turning, Chris glared at him, giving Jensen his _what-are-you-waiting-for-?_ face before shoving him in the shoulder.

Jensen frowned, gave him a retaliatory shove, and proceeded to use baseball signals to call the play against the sleeping guard. 

Chris shook his head at the first two suggestions just to be ornery before agreeing to the third.

Jensen clenched his jaw and made a mental note to smack Chris on the back of the head later. He nodded. He got into position, index finger brushing the trigger of his gun, straight arms aiming it down for the moment.

Chris slid his own gun back into the holster and took a moment to center himself: eyes closed, one breath in, one breath out. He moved to stand at Jensen's side, practically brushing shoulders, and stretched his fingers like a gunslinger before a shootout. " _Burn It to the Ground_ ," he whispered whiskey rough, yet audible only to Jensen.

Jensen nodded, counting out the beats in his head as Chris raised one finger, then a second, a third, and on the fourth count they stepped forward, right feet first, length of stride a perfect match as if they'd done this a thousand times before now. They stepped into the open at an angle, coming around the corner into the hall in sync.

In the back of Jensen's mind, he could hear the quick, kick-ass, four-count drum beat of Nickelback's _Burn It to the Ground_ and he knew Chris was timing his moves to the late night, trash-talking bar-fight anthem too.

_Well, it's-a mid-night  
damn. right!  
We're wound up too tight_

By the time they were through the first eleven words, Chris had already crossed the short distance and was moving along the opposite wall. They weren't slowing down. 

_I got a fist full-a whiskey!  
The bottle just bit me!_

Startled, the guard stood. He reached for his rifle. His fingers wrapped around air.

In full-on locomotive mode, Chris’ face was red and angry, nose flaring, mouth set; he looked like a bulldog with the mailman in sight.

_Oooooooh_

Surprised the guard looked at the spot he'd propped his rifle, but it had been knocked to the ground by a well-thrown knife.

_That shit makes me  
bat-shit crazy!_

The guard looked up again in time to be tackled to the ground. The chair he'd been sitting in tipped over. Jensen caught it before it knocked into the wall.

_We've got no fear, no doubt  
balls out!_

The guard and Chris wrestled, probably because the guard wrongly assumed that his size guaranteed he could overpower his attacker. Possibly if it had been anyone but Chris, he wouldn't have been wrong, but what Chris lacked in height, he made up for in skill, talent, and enthusiasm.

_We're going off tonight  
to kick out every light_

Jensen picked up the rifle and slipped the ammo clip into his pocket even as his eyes slid up and down the hall for party crashers.

_Take anything that we want,  
drink everything in sight_

Jensen watched casually as the guard punched Chris in the face twice in a rapid-fire motion. It was akin to pulling a sleeping lion's tail. 

_We're going till the world stops turning  
While we burn it to the ground tonight_

Chris pushed the guard's face into the rug and yanked his arm back and up so far behind his back Jensen wondered how it couldn't possibly be dislocated. "You done?" Chris growled low into the man's ear. "You done?" He shook the man to make his point.

Katie's whispered singing through the earbuds was right on cue. " _We're screaming like demons, swinging from the ceiling. -- Ow_!"

" _Girl, shush_!" Aldis voice came in response.

" _Hater_."

The guard tried to nod but the awkward angle Chris was holding him in kept him from doing anything but gurgling.

Jensen made a sharp hissing noise to get Chris' attention -- the same noise his dad used on the dog when he was seconds from mischief; Jensen would never admit that...to Chris.

Chris' head jerked up. His gaze met Jensen's. They had another of their short unspoken conversations before Chris turned his attention back to his captive. Leaning in again, but letting the man loose a little, he advised in Spanish, "If you make any noise louder than a peep, I'm gonna see if your arm will bend in half backwards, got it?"

Looking nervous, the guard nodded slightly. He didn't have much range of motion and when he did move, it hurt.

"Okay, then. Mr. Clarke's being held prisoner in that room you were supposed t' be guarding, right?" Chris quietly interrogated in Spanish. Jensen listened; his back remained against the wall, gun in hand, ever vigilant.

The guard nodded.

"He in there alone?"

The man hesitated.

Chris shook him.

The guard cried out a little in pain before biting down on his lip. He pressed his forehead to the carpet and closed his eyes as he willed away the pain. "No, no, Señor," the guard replied. "La doctora."

Chris glanced back at Jensen, who was frowning at them. "A doctor? Why?"

The man shook his head. "Doctora Alba brings the Ixtab. Tonight, she says she needed to check his injuries alone," he grunted through the pain.

 _Shit_. Ixtab, the highly addictive heroin variant. Jensen blinked slowly. Last night’s encounter with J.T. became clearer. "Take care of him," Jensen said quickly, turning to the door. 

"Tink?" Jensen whispered to get Katie's attention through the comm.

" _Grab a sample of special H for the first aid kit. I'm on it_ ," Katie anticipated his order as she often did. She would have made an awesome personal assistant with her eerie ability to seemingly read minds -- or at least read Jensen's mind -- if she hadn't gone the super spy route.

"Thanks," Jensen replied as he tried the doorknob. _Locked._ He heard a loud crack -- probably Chris slamming the guard's head against the floor. He took two steps back and prepared to kick in the door.

The drug cocktail rushed through every single vein in his body from the tip of his pinkie to his big toe to his ears and so on. It was too much and not enough all at once. He felt awash in sensation as if every nerve was individually aware and reporting for duty and every inch of skin was now an erogenous zone. He felt alive and blissful, calm and stimulated, on fire and pliant, though somewhere in the back of his mind, he had a nagging thought that he was should be resistive and angry. 

* * *

For a petite woman, Jessica Alba easily manhandled Jay "J.T." Clarke to the center of the bed once she'd administered the heroin-ecstasy mixture. He was a much more willing participant once the drugs started to take effect, once her hands and mouth started exploring and teasing his over-sensitive flesh, only increasing the craving for more. She knew it was just the drugs, his body didn't care who, but she didn't mind; this was her fantasy after all. She wasn't after his brain, just his body. If she had to disconnect the two to get what she wanted, what she needed, so be it. His body would thank her for it, and so would hers.

She pushed his t-shirt up so she could run her hands along his chiseled chest, pausing to roll and pinch each dusky nipple. He tensed and turned his head away, hating her, hating his body, hating the pleasure, the want, the growing need flaring through him.

He'd quickly learned not to struggle. Struggling was stimulating. It really was better to be as still as possible and try to disconnect. To wish everything was over.

"It's starting to feel good, isn't it, J.T.? I promise it's going to feel so good.” She smiled though because he might not be looking at her but he couldn't hide the breathless sounds he was making, the way his body was reacting. She straddled him on the bed, pulled her dress over her head, and tossed it onto the floor. No, this time there was no mistaking the physical reaction his body was having. “The X will help intensify everything – “ Gripping his shoulders, she let her head fall back as she rubbed her already damp panties over growing bulge in his jeans. “Every touch, every kiss, every stroke, every thrust."

Jay’s traitorous hips reflexively bucked at the sensation, but to keep from making any noise she might appreciate, he bit his bottom lip so hard he drew blood. He screwed his eyes closed and tried to focus on the least sexual thoughts he could: Chad eating Indian food, Larry the Cable Guy, Gramma’s new biker tattoo, Dick Cheney, Jim in that Betty Boop costume last year… 

Slowly running her hands along the outside of his arms, she leaned forward until her lips hovered above his. The lace of her bra tickled his bare chest with every breath she took. “So gorgeous, baby, all stretched out and vulnerable. Laid out for me,” she whispered. She licked and sucked and nipped at his neck, his pulse point, and his collarbones. “I knew you would be. We’re going to have so much-“

The door burst open.

Startled, Alba turned angrily toward the door.

Head raised to see the new arrival, Jay blinked wide-eyed at his Guardian Angel. He dropped his head back on the pillow. A sigh of relief leaked out of him. 

Jensen hesitated at the compromising sight. "Uh...huh."

"Who the hell are you?" she demanded.

Jensen’s brain finished connecting the dots, flashed on the big picture -- handcuffed prisoner in state of undress and bat-shit crazy, half-dressed, _unarmed_ female doctor. _Dammit_. Katie and Chris would kick him in the ass, but his momma’s voice about being a gentleman overrode good sense.

“The Calvary,” he replied, sliding his gun back into its holster. He strode across the room. "Okay, Karla Homolka, fun's over." He reached for her arm to pull her off J.T.

"Unless you're joining the party, I'd watch where you put those hands," she grabbed his wrist and twisted. 

Jensen hissed in pain as he pulled back. 

She pushed herself up and off the bed. Standing in front of him in only her black lingerie all tanned skin and lean build, he could see she was smaller, but like Katie, probably full of surprises. 

"Okay, _that's_ how we're playing this,” he replied, shifting into a fighting stance.

"You wouldn't hit a girl, would you?" She gave him a wide-eyed innocent look complete with the head tilt and the sweet, baby-like voice.

"When I see one, I'll let you know." He smirked.

She threw a right hook at him. He ducked, but it brought him close enough to get two quick punches to her abs. She cried out as they broke apart. 

They bobbed. They weaved. A quick jab caught him in the jaw. 

He dodged a roundhouse kick. When she came back around, she grabbed his shoulders, pushing him down, and then slammed his face into her rising knee. 

"Fuck!" he complained.

He twisted in her grip and wrapped an arm around her neck. They scuffled around the room as she wrestled to break free. He slowly cut off her oxygen supply. Finally, she wriggled around in his arms enough to elbow him in the groin. _That_ loosened his grip. 

She turned, grabbed his head, and slammed it into the dresser.

For a moment, everything blacked out. Jensen shook his head, shaking his vision back into place. Things might have been just a little bit blurry with floating, sparkly white stars. He might have had a slight concussion; it wouldn't be the first time. "O…kay...that's it," he mumbled.

Alba decided to use his brief distraction to run for help. However, she stopped short when she found the doorway blocked by another man in black. She spun around to face off with the one she'd started with only to run face first into the bedside lamp.

Jensen looked back and forth between the unconscious woman and the bedside lamp in his hand. "Light's out, I guess," he said.

Chris scrunched up his face at Jensen's pun. " _Dude_ , you're like a bull in a china shop. What's with the ruckus?"

Jensen pointed at the unconscious woman as if that explained everything.

Chris rolled his eyes. "None of my guys made any noise," he grumbled. "All these years and you can't sneak up on someone quietly and knock them out?"

Jensen rolled his eyes and turned away from the chastising. Nothing on this mission had gone right for him. He took in the appearance of the rather debauched J.T. Clarke, and tried not to think how he would rather take the naughty mad scientist's place than un-cuff him. The way J.T. looked at him, heavy-lidded, lips parted, breathless, cheeks flushed with his body stretched out on the bed, legs parted, arousal obvious, chest muscles rippling and nipples-- _God_.

"Come on. We gotta hurry now. Someone has t' have heard," Chris said, shoving Jensen's shoulder as he headed over to the bed. "Hey, man, hold on there, okay?" Chris told Jay. "We're gonna get you outta here, all right?"

Jay's glazed eyes never left Jensen. "Are- are you real? I mean, is this a dream?"

The question snapped Jensen back to reality and back into motion. He smiled reassuringly at Jay. "'Course we're real." He touched the stickiness where his forehead bore a small gash from his introduction to the dresser. "Certainly feels real," he added sarcastically with a wink. 

"Oh, good." Jay looked relieved. "That's good." 

Jensen quickly joined Chris in searching for the handcuff keys. Chris found them on the floor between the bed stand and the bed. He and Jensen promptly removed Jay's handcuffs and helped him sit up, straightening his clothes as they did so. 

The motion made Jay dizzy, and their innocent touches felt strangely erotic and ticklish. "Woah." Jay couldn't hold back the burst of giggles. He absently rubbed at the soreness in his wrists, the touch loosening until his own fingertips were just barely grazing his own skin sending shivers through his body. A wave of want surged through him. "Oh, God...you have to help me..." He gripped Jensen's sleeve tightly, eyes pleading. 

"It's all right. That's what we're here for." Jensen nodded, patting him on the back.

"Lift on three?" Chris asked, catching Jensen's eye.

" _Heat-seekers incoming_ ," Katie's voice warned softly.

Jensen nodded at Chris. "You in place, Tink?"

"No," Jay appealed, "You have to...I don't feel..." Jensen and Chris each lifted one of Jay's arms and slid under it before each wrapping an arm around his waist or lower back. It was oddly synchronized or his hazy mind made it seem so.

" _When am I not?"_

"One," Chris counted as he and Jensen braced themselves.

"Py, everything ready?" Jensen asked.

"...feel right...," Jay mumbled. "...like more than usual..."

" _Hell, yeah,_ " Aldis replied, the big smile evident in his voice.

"Two," Chris grunted as he took on more of Jay's weight.

" _This is gonna be better than the stage show at the last MetalJam_ ," Aldis continued.

At the count of three, Jensen and Chris pushed forward, using the momentum to not only lift Jay but make a semi-limping-run for the hall, which involved some maneuvering over the unconscious doctor. Jensen wished he'd handcuffed her to the bed, but now they were moving, and he didn't want to stop.

"Really? _MetalJam_?" Chris sneered.

"...uh- what?" Jay blinked at Chris.

" _Shut up, Bull_ ," Aldis snapped.

"No, I mean, you couldn't come up with a better analogy than _MetalJam_?"

" _Shut up, Bull_!" Katie and Aldis replied in unison.

"What? Who are you talking to?" Jay asked.

Chris smirked. 

"Py, just...bring it on," Jensen rolled his eyes ignoring Chris. To Jay, he said, "It's okay, we're talking to the rest of the team on our comms."

Jay blinked at him.

Jensen tapped his ear.

Jay nodded slowly as they stumbled down the hall. As if sharing a secret, he loudly whispered, "The other _angels_."

Chris snorted.

A loud explosion shook the building causing the three of them to stumble into a wall. Jensen ended up on the losing end of the deal as both Jay and Chris crushed him against the adobe-like material. 

Jay's face was a breath from his for the few moments it took to recover. Jay studied Jensen with intense curiosity and awe. "You have freckles," Jay breathed. One arm braced some of his weight against the wall to one side of Jensen's head, but really, the other two men kept him upright. 

"Yes," Jensen replied after the pause while his brain scrambled to find a word, any word, because all he could really think at that moment was, " _OhmyGod, he's going to kiss me again! OhmyGod, I hope he kisses me again! OhmyGod, I'll die if he doesn't kiss me again!_ "

"Do they taste like strawberries?" He licked his dry lips as if he could already taste them, as if they might be the best thing he'd ever tasted, as if they could quench his thirst.

Jensen blinked. "Uh- what?"

Chris laughed. No, Chris snickered. It was the kind of snickering laugh that told Jensen he was never going to hear the end of it. That, in fact, this story would be told to Steve, and to Misha, and to everyone they knew and to people they didn't, and Jensen would not be able to show his face anywhere in the world again.

"Okay, lover-boy, let's get you somewhere more appropriate for fondling Tex here," Chris chuckled as he pulled Jay back into the middle of the hall and away from Jensen.

"Hey!" Jensen complained. "There will be no 'fondling' of me or the target."

" _Riiight_ ," Katie said over the sound over gunfire in the background of her comm. " _I heard about the moonlit bathroom love scene, Tex._ "

Jensen picked up his share of Jay's weight and started helping him along toward the exit. "Focus on the job, _Tink_."

Jay groaned as each step became more uncomfortable.

 _"Ket-tle_ ," she sing-songed.

As they came around a corner, there were people in the hallway -- not just your typical drug cartel thugs, but the wives and girlfriends, random folks who were staying in the house. They had been driven from their rooms by the explosions from the drug lab and warehouse outside. Without a word, Chris immediately let Jensen take Jay's full weight. Taking two steps forward and in front of them, using two fingers, he whistled loud and sharp, gaining almost instant attention -- not instant enough that he didn't have time to draw both guns.

The next sixty seconds were fraught with chaos. There was some screaming. There was some shooting. There was some punching too. However, when the sixty seconds were up, the hall was clear save for just them, and there wasn't a scratch on them that they hadn't brought into that hallway with them.

Chris _really_ loved his job.

Jay felt hot. Not hot the way the heroin made him feel the last few days, like the air was too warm, or his skin was too much. No, this felt more like a flush of heat, like a cool touch might quench it -- a cool touch of smooth cloth or liquid or skin. He nuzzled his cheek along the black material of his rescuing angel's shoulder as they leaned against the wall. His eyes closed, he slid one hand under his t-shirt, running his fingers over his sweat damp abs, feeling momentary relief and an instant craving for more, more everywhere. His other hand loosely cupped the bulge in his jeans. He tried not to think about what he was doing, couldn't; the give-a-damn function of his brain that cared about control was shorted. He'd hate her if he could be bothered, hate himself, be ashamed, but he couldn't think, only feel.

Jensen, who'd been watching Chris, startled and blinked at Jay. "Uh- wh- what are you doing?"

"I- I" He was panting softly with glazed over eyes, but Jensen's question seemed to bringing him back to himself a bit. "I…have an itch..."

Jensen studied him with a frown even as the man began "nuzzling" more aggressively.

"And you're pretty...and I..you have to help me..."

Jensen took a step back. He frowned at the whimper Jay made as he lost Jensen as a human-sized scratching post. Holding Jay at arms-length, he looked him up and down. He mentally cataloged the way Jay's cheeks were flushed, his pink lips were parted, his hands absently touched himself and where. Jay looked more debauched now.

Chris walked up right then. "Do I have to do all the work around here?"

" _Enough playing. If you don't get your asses out on the balcony in 30 seconds, I'm leaving without you_ ," Katie said in her best mother voice.

"C'mon," Chris said, taking his place on one side of Jay.

"Yeah," Jensen nodded absently as he mirrored Chris. "Tink, I think we got a problem with the H."

" _First aid later. You're gonna miss the end of the light show_ ," she said impatiently.

They took off at a hobbled run with Jay between them.

Jay mumbled, "…yeah, a problem...tried to...drugs in the drugs...in the drugs..." He giggled as he stumbled. This was one hell of a hallucination. Angels and guns and green eyes and freckles and damn but his leg was sure going to hurt later. Still, it was better than flesh-eating spiders.

They pushed through a pair of glass French doors onto a half-destroyed balcony. The drug lord's fortress looked like a war zone. The drug lab building and the warehouses were on fire. Jensen's team didn't believe in doing anything in small doses: rescue a movie star's son; give a boost to the War on Drugs. Well, Yippie-ki-yay, mother-fucker! But the best part was Aldis' Special – every three to seven minutes, another batch of Disneyland-quality fireworks launched out of the firs in a fine display of dazzling colored lights and sparklers, aimed, not skyward, but every which way inside the compound. Meanwhile, as the armed guards tried to dodge the fireworks, they kept hearing and seeing ongoing machine gunfire from unknown assailants throughout the house, the courtyard, and the compound walls – such were the tiny grey explosives Katie, Jensen, and Aldis had spread everywhere, set to several different timers and triggers on Aldis' "launchpad".

Slightly winded from hauling the weight of the giant, drugged, giggling J.T. Clarke through the maze of the house to the balcony, Jensen and Chris tried to catch their breath as Katie lowered herself like a spider from the roof.

"Well, it's about time," she admonished. Now she wore her rappelling safety gear, which she usually reserved for tall urban buildings and special occasions like rappelling with cast-wearing CEOs.

"Yeah, yeah," Chris panted. "You carry Sasquatch a million miles while fighting a horde of gun-toting drug dealers and see how long it takes you."

"Oh, you loved it!" She playfully swatted his arm.

Chris just grinned at her as he bore Jay's weight, while Jensen tested the sturdiness of the balcony rails. He arched an eyebrow at Katie, and she just smirked. Of course, she'd already loosened the screws. Jensen kicked the rails a few times. The whole section in front of them fell away.

"Going down - ladies and gimps first," Chris snarked.

Katie rolled her eyes, stepped to the edge and held her arms out wide. Jensen and Chris maneuvered Jay into her waiting arms. 

"Careful," Jensen said, not certain if he was talking to Katie or Jay.

"Are you an angel too?" Jay asked Katie.

"I'm Tink," she replied.

" _Incoming heat-seekers -- both sides_ ," Aldis reported.

Jay gasped. "Like the fairy?"

Jensen glanced over Chris' shoulder and counted at least three guards coming toward them on the balcony that wrapped around the entire second floor. "Bait and switch?" he asked Chris. 

She nodded to Jay. "And you've got to hold on tight, 'cuz now we're going to fly." She pulled him with her as she stepped backward, and for a few seconds they were airborne. Katie had been smart enough to plan for someone of Jay's height and weight and the short distance, so the rope wasn't all that long, and she'd prepared an easy landing area with cushions from the pool area.

Grinning mischievously, Chris nodded to Jensen.

Katie and Jay had already landed in the cushions before his brain worked up the functionality to exclaim, "Wheeeeee!"

Still on the balcony, Jensen and Chris simultaneously each stepped forward to the left so they were side-by-side facing in opposite directions.

On the far side of the compound, the cargo bay of the vehicle Jensen had hitched a ride under the night before miraculously caught fire. Not enough to explode, but enough to catch the attention of some of the drug lord's scrambling workers.

"Oh, yeah, baby, who's a weapon of mass destruction?" Aldis crowed from his spot next to Katie's cushioned landing.

On the balcony, the guards rushing toward Chris and Jensen slowed a little with watchful, wary expressions, but the boys moved in practiced fluid, synchronized motions. They took a smaller step forward, this time to the right, bringing them back-to-back.

"Would you stop bragging and help get Superboy off me?" Katie mumbled as she struggled underneath all the weight and jumble of limbs.

The balcony had the feel of a two-directional showdown. Of course, the heroes were out-numbered and the villains thought they had the advantage of already having their guns drawn. All they needed was some bad dialog and tumbleweed.

"You're kind of a girl for a fairy," Jay told her. 

Chris and Jensen pulled their guns at the same time.

"Don't call him that!" Aldis hissed as he hurried to haul Jay to his feet -- well, something like that. "It's Kent! The code name is _Kent_."

As the drug lord's men raised their guns and fired at Jensen and Chris, they both dropped to the floor and then rolled right so they were lying flat on their stomachs next to each other. A few of the men dropped as they were caught in their own crossfire. The boys took advantage of the surprise on the other men's faces to shoot the rest of them.

"Well, he sure weighs like a man made of steel," she complained as she unhooked the line and rolled out of the way so Chris and Jensen could join them. "Besides, he's so high, he barely knows who he is, using a code name's only going t' confuse him."

"It's not for him, it's for _them_ , the bad guys," Aldis insisted, shifting Jay around so he couldn't play with his gear.

Chris and Jensen crawled to their feet once they were sure the immediate danger had been eliminated.

"Pyro, _clue_ \-- _they_ already _know_ who _he_ is!" Katie rolled her eyes as she stood up and dusted herself off. "Now will you two quit playing around up there and join the rest of us, please?" Katie demanded, hands on her hips.

"Playing?" Chris griped as he peered over the edge. "Is that what she thinks we do?"

"I think that's what _you_ do," Jensen replied, reaching for the rappelling rope.

"Gimme that," Chris demanded, trying to grab it out of Jensen's hands.

"No," he replied and stepped off the balcony, easily sliding down to the ground.

Chris didn't even wait until he was all the way down, before he started his decent, which was just as well because the vehicle on fire exploded, launching a cab full of red, white, and blue shooting fireworks and Chinese firecrackers as well as catching the two nearest trucks on fire.

"God, I love my job," Aldis grinned. Chris patted him on the back, the closest he'd come to telling Aldis he'd done good work, and Aldis swelled with pride.

"C'mon, let's be gone,' Jensen ordered as he took half Jay's weight from Aldis. 

"Oh...you're back...," Jay said, nuzzling Jensen's shoulder with his cheek.

"I'm back," Jensen replied, feeling his stomach flip-flop.

"My angel in shining knight...I mean...my fairy-god-armor...my green-eyed...," Jay rambled.

Chris and Aldis snickered.

Jensen knew he was never going to live this down.

Katie hurried to be in front of them, because they still had to sneak out of the compound. She patted Jay's cheek and grabbed his face as she walked backward ahead of them. "Hey, look at me...hey, hey, Clark...J.T...you hear me? You paying attention?" She waved a finger in front of his eyes to get him to focus as she held his face with the other hand.

Jay's glazed eyes tried to focus on the black-gloved finger though the man next to him was so beautiful. He'd much rather look at him. "Hunhh."

"We're going to play a game now, okay?" she told him. When she thought he understood what she was saying, she continued. "We're playing Hide-and-Sneak; it's us against Vargas and his men. You know who Vargas is?"

Jay blinked slowly. He couldn't forget Jacob Vargas, the vile, angry pretender of a man -- his kidnapper and torturer. He breathed out slowly as he tried to focus his brain. It was so hard, much harder than usual. God, how he hated drugs. He had to use his anger, channel it, something he wasn't used to doing, not until he ended up in this place.

"J.T.?" she asked again.

He tried to refocus his eyes as she pulled him out of his thoughts. He nodded.

"We have to be quiet and sneaky, okay?" she explained soothingly. She caressed his cheek as if she were reassuring a child or a puppy. "Can you do that?"

Jay looked down at himself, at the men who were supporting him, and then back at her. He slowly nodded, biting his bottom lip. 

She beamed a thousand watt smile at him, and just like that, it was as if they had been best friends their whole lives. Jensen knew the effect of that smile. Even for a gay man, it was like a promise, like the warmth of the sun, like the comfort of a mother, and like the love of a kitten all rolled into one, and you always wanted it directed at you. 

The chaos of the explosions and fires allowed them to sneak through the compound unnoticed until they reached the gate. 

Jay managed to focus on keeping quiet the whole way, but the experience was agonizing torture. Not only did keeping quiet go against his nature, but the disconnect of inhibitions by the ecstasy, combined with increasing desire for release, was driving him further insane. By the time they got to the gate, his brain was fevered with crazed naked orgy thoughts mostly involving his green-eyed angel. 

At the gate, the two guards moved to confront them, one demanding they stop or freeze or something equally corny. Neither Katie nor Chris blinked when they raised their guns and shot a guard each. Chris' guard slumped against the wall, clutching his right shoulder and whimpering. Katie's fell as her bullet shattered his left shin. They kicked the guards' weapons away as they passed on their way to open the gates ahead of Jensen, Jay, and Aldis.

Once they were beyond the walls, the rest of the escape to the SUVs was mostly uneventful. Mostly until the level of high adventure excitement combined with the bad mixture of sedatives and stimulants in Jay's blood stream just became a little too much for his stomach to handle. Jay had tried to warn them as he'd gone quickly from happy cuddly, giant chipmunk to miserable, sweaty, toxic slug in 0 to 10 seconds.

Jensen knelt next to him and rubbed circles into his back with one hand while keeping him steady with his other hand on Jay's right shoulder. He whispered soothing things to Jay, the kind of things his own mother used to say to him when he'd just been sick. "It'll be okay. All right?"

Jay wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He sat in an awkward position on the ground where he'd collapsed trying to get away when he realized he was going to vomit immediately. For a moment, he'd forgotten he couldn't walk nor could he bend his knee with it in a cast. Therefore, when he'd pulled away from his rescuers in the clammy panic of the moment, he had, of course, made Jerry Lewis proud. He had the vaguest notion that he should be embarrassed and not just for the last few minutes, but the pounding in his head, and the queasiness in his stomach, and a hundred other miserable things plus the continued fuzziness in his brain, which he really, really hated, let him postpone being embarrassed for a while longer.

Katie squatted down on the other side of Jay, holding Chris' bandanna. With one hand, she pushed his sweat damp hair from his face; with the other, she gently cleaned his face with one corner of the bandanna. "There. Feel better?" 

His eyes slightly unfocused on her, Jay nodded. Just at that moment, she reminded him of his mother -- bossy but tender. "Thanks," he said in a quiet voice. 

She folded bandanna so the dirty part was on the inside and handed the cloth to him. "You hold on to that, okay?"

With shaking fingers, Jay took the bandanna but he just stared at it. His brain was still too sluggish. He wasn't sure what to do with it.

Jensen gave him a reassuring smile. "Here. Why don't you put that in your pocket?" He offered. "In case you need it again."

Jay blinked at him. He nodded as Jensen took the bandanna and slid it into his back pocket for him. "Thank...you...really."

Jensen smiled reassuringly. "Okay...Let's get you up, okay? It's not far."

They waited for confirmation from Jay before they tried to get him back to his feet. There was a little uncertainty once they got him there that he wasn't going to need to get right back down, but the dizziness passed after a few seconds. They had to travel a little slower. They ended up having to stop once more, but that had to do more with hiding from a patrol than with bodily hazards.


	6. Chapter Five: Time Is Precious

# Chapter Five: Time Is Precious

Oh my god, get me out of here  
Take me now, take me anywhere  
Away from everyone I don't care  
Oh my god get me out of here  
I'm mysterious  
Time is precious  
What are you waiting for?  
I'm dead serious  
\-- Marion Raven ,Get Me Out of Here

## Eleven Days Since Abduction  
GSC L.A. H.Q., "Bat Cave"

Sam Ferris stepped into the room and quietly shut the door behind her. Misha was at his usual place behind his command center, but Danni stood in the middle of the room in front of the wall of LCD screens. A satellite image of South America was the focal point of Danni's attention. As Sam joined Danni, Misha's fingers danced across the keyboard, and the image zoomed in tighter and tighter to coordinates in Southern Mexico. They stopped in what looked like a government satellite shot of Disneyland during its nightly fireworks display.

"Aldis has really outdone himself this time," Danni stated breaking the silence. "Looks like he added some green."

Sam nodded absently. "Umm... Misha, whose satellite are you picking this up from?"

When he didn't answer right away, both women turned questioning expressions in his direction.

Misha shrugged and looked sheepish. "Plausible deniability. Don't ask; don't tell?"

Sam quirked an eyebrow. Smirking, she turned back to stare at the satellite photo. "Any sign of them?"

"Other than Aldis' Fickle Finger of Fate? No," Misha replied. "And if things go correctly, we won't until Steve picks them up tomorrow."

Sam nodded. She knew that. She knew Misha was being extremely respectful not to have let any sarcasm slip into his voice too. Any other mission, she wouldn't have asked. She wouldn't have expected there to be any signs, wouldn't have hoped. Normally, she wouldn't want them to break protocol to check in, knowing that checking in before they were free and clear could give their location away and endanger them. She knew better than anyone that they wouldn't really be safe until they were back in L.A. She'd just never before felt so helpless.

* * *

## Between Jacob Vargas' Compound & Ciudad del Carmen, Mexico

An hour away from Vargas' compound, the two SVUs pulled over onto a back road. 

The passenger seat had been pushed as far back as possible to accommodate Jay's long legs and the cast, and Katie had set it into the furthest recline position it would go in an attempt to make the young man comfortable. Still, in the last hour, he'd been restless, unable to stay still more than a few seconds before trying again to find a more comfortable position. Everything hurt, but most importantly it felt as if he could just find the right position in which to lie, the pain would recede. However, the pain only seemed to fade when he was in motion, and that made him dizzy, which made him queasy.

Jensen and Katie had argued in the car. Despite knowing better, despite never having done so before, Jensen wanted to break protocol and contact Misha with Jay's symptoms. Jensen argued that they had no idea what that quack doctor had been doing to him. 

Katie, however, had been the levelheaded one. She'd seen enough ops involving drugs and poisons when she'd worked for the CIA to have a basic understanding that Jay had probably been given two counter-opposing drugs and the best he could do in their current circumstances was ride it out. The sweating and vomiting was probably working to his advantage.

Mostly, she told him to stop being stupid, that ever since this mission began he'd been acting like a rookie, and if he wasn't careful he really was going to get them all killed.

Fortunately, for Jensen, Katie had turned off the two-way communication to the other SUV before the discussion began or he'd really never have heard the end of it from Chris and Aldis. As it was, Chris and Aldis were already planning their mocking of Jensen for being the embodiment of a target's angelic knight in shining armor.

Once the vehicles stopped, everyone but Jay climbed out. Jay wasn't even aware they'd stopped. Jensen went around to the passenger side door while Katie and Chris popped the cargo door open. While Katie and Chris searched for some clothes that might fit Jay, Jensen unbuckled his seatbelt.

"Hey, man," Jensen soothed. "Why don't we get you into some more comfortable clothes, huh?"

Jay blinked at him. "What?"

"You're all twisted up in those clothes and they're soaked," Jensen pointed out, indicating how sweat-soaked they'd become from Jared's feverish actions. "Let's get you into some looser clothes you can breathe in, yeah?" Jensen pulled lightly on Jay's t-shirt and jeans. "You'll be more comfortable."

Jay nodded at his green-eyed angel. "Yeah...okay." This wasn't a hallucination. He got that now. He wasn't quite sure which parts were real and which had been hallucination, but the guy with the green eyes was real.

Giving him as reassuring a smile as Jensen could give, he said, "Can you swing around this way yourself or do you need me to help?" He gestured to indicate Jay should move his legs out of the car, so he was sitting facing Jensen.

Jay struggled first to sit up. He smiled gratefully when his angel bent down to reset the recline setting on his seat. He hefted his cast out of the car and then managed to maneuver himself the rest of the way. He gave the man a grateful smile when he realized he'd backed up a few steps to give him room. As miserable and helpless as he felt, he needed to be able to do some of this on his own. "I don't even know who you are..."

"You can call me Tex," the green-eyed man replied. Katie appeared at his side with some clothes. "And I believe Tink already introduced herself."

Katie smiled and saluted. "Yeah, Superboy and I are old fly buddies."

Jay groaned, suddenly inflicted with memories of a one-story skydive which still made him feel slightly queasy. He put one hand to his head, wishing for a cold, damp cloth. "Was that real?"

Aldis appeared with a couple of bottles of water. "Hey, I'm Pyro, and Grumpy over there is Bull," he gestured to Chris, who was trying not to crowd the man who might vomit.

And the truth was that Jay did in fact look like he might be sick any second. He kept shifting, trying to find a comfortable position to sit. He kept rubbing his thighs and arms, trying to calm the unquenchable crawling itch, and he kept trying to find a cool surface against which to rest his face. He had so many questions. Who were these people? What were their real names? He was especially curious about his green-eyed angel. However, his brain was still frustratingly scattered, not operating at his accustomed high performance level. 

"Alright, everyone back off," Jensen ordered, grabbing the clothes from Katie's hands. "Give the man room to breathe."

Katie grabbed the water from Aldis and clunked it on the roof of the SUV before ushering Aldis and Chris away to give them privacy. "Let's talk road maps, boys," she suggested.

Jensen put the change of clothes on the dashboard and reached for the bottle of water. 

"Thanks," Jay mumbled, holding his head in his hands as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his thighs. 

Jensen handed him an open bottle of water, while absently running a soothing hand up and down his back. "Hey, it's okay. It's gonna be okay."

Jay wrapped his trembling fingers around the water bottle and took tentative sips, hoping his stomach wouldn't rebel. He wished it was cooler, but it was lukewarm. He frowned a little but didn't mention it. "Did- did my- who sent you? I mean, you're a- whatisit? Retrieval team, right? Who?" Jay thought it might be the most lucid thing he'd said in a while.

Jensen's hand had begun to rub circles in Jay's back. "We're not supposed to say in the field."

Jay gave him a questioning look.

"It's protocol. For everyone's safety. We don't use real names. We normally wouldn't even use yours but...you weren't- Tink thought it would only confuse you more," Jensen smiled sheepishly. "In the state of mind we found you in."

Jay nodded slowly. He could see how that might have happened. He still wasn't sure what parts were real. He wasn't entirely sure how much of this was real. "They've kept me drugged. Easier. To control."

Jensen nodded. "We didn't know. Not until we got there."

Jay took another sip. "But you can't say if my mother sent you or if it's CareCorp?"

Jensen carefully schooled his features. "I can't."

"Al. Alona. My assistant. Do you know? Is she?"

Jensen kept his face expressionless. "You know what? All of those questions you have? As soon as we get back in the States, someone can answer them for you," Jensen assured. "We'll get you to a hospital too, where they can do something about how you're feeling, but first we have to get to the pick up point, okay?"

"Pick up point?"

"Yeah, got a plane picking us up tomorrow up north on the Gulf," Jensen smiled. "We just have to avoid the Cartel between here and there. Piece of cake."

Jay didn't look as sure as Jensen sounded.

"In the meantime...more comfortable clothes, right?" Jensen clapped his hands together and offered a _we-can-do-this_ smile. Jensen picked up the black t-shirt Katie had picked out. 

The next ten minutes were spent helping Jay change into a t-shirt and a pair of shorts. Really, Jensen didn't mind helping because, _goddamn_ , Jay was gorgeous despite the bruises, but in some way, he felt almost like he was taking advantage, like he shouldn't look, not while the guy was still handicapped by the drugs -- especially if Katie was right and that quack had spiked the heroin with some sort of entactogenic drug. However, Jay wasn't helping in his plan to stay detached.

Jay managed to get his own shirt off without trouble. Getting the jeans down over the cast was more of a problem, especially when he was trying to stay upright. He could see "Tex" was trying to be polite by looking away while he changed, but finally he had to ask for assistance and while he knew he sounded frustrated when he did so, he secretly, honestly didn't mind.

Jay's mind was still working in slow motion so watching Jensen pulling his jeans down and off was recorded in mental slow motion, recorded to be played back later for fantasy usage. Jay couldn't decide if he wished he knew what was real or not, because his mind was seeing some wonderful things, and if they were real he wished he knew it, but if they weren't then he was kind of glad he didn't know for sure. He was most certain he would always remember the heated way Jensen looked up through those long lashes as he pulled his jeans from his legs. Real or not, it took Jay's breath away.

Jensen's fingers itched to trace every inch of Jay, especially now that he stood nearly naked in front of him. Jensen slowly rose, careful not to touch, inches away. Their eyes never left each other's for countless seconds. Jensen felt his heart hammering in his chest.

Jay's fingers unconsciously curled around the top of the car door to leverage his weight. Nudging in the back of his mind, a fragmented memory cracked through the haze. Jay's eyes dropped to Jensen's full lips. He licked his own dry lips as a haunted tingling of the memory of those lips on his came back to him. His eyes flicked back up to Jensen's.

Jensen realized the moment Jay remembered the incident in the bathroom. As unprofessional as it had been, as much as he wanted to professionally deny it had happened, he couldn't deny it to the one other person who had been there.

Jay's pink lips curled into the tiniest of smirks. He stepped forward just enough to crowd Jensen's space. When they were close enough that speaking allowed their lips to occasionally brush, he closed his eyes, concentrating on the sensations, and Jay whispered, "When this is over, you should let me thank you properly...something we'll both remember...vividly."

Before Jensen could answer or react, Jay moved back and was fumbling with the new t-shirt.

Jay didn't want Jensen to see the blush creeping up his cheeks. He wasn't sure where that had come from. Sure, he was an over-achiever, a self-confident, successful CEO, but that was business. His social life was an entirely different matter. He was not a go-and-get-'em kind of guy as a rule. He was more of a one-day-my-prince-will-come kind of guy. His relationships were comfortable friendships with benefits that just sort of happened out of convenience and were really, really rare. Clearly, the drugs and this whole kidnapping situation was messing with him and his ego.

Jensen ran a hand through his hair and looked around nervously. "Uh." He cleared his throat. "Um."

Jay leaned back against the seat as he tried to get the shorts on without asking for help.

Finally, Jensen gave in. "Here," he said, grabbing them from Jay's hand. He didn't notice the red in Jay's cheeks; he was too worried about his own. He helped pull the shorts up enough until Jay could handle them.

"Thanks," Jay mumbled.

"I -uh- I'm gonna go smoke a cigarette before we get going again."

"You smoke?"

"No." Jensen stalked away. "Tink, where did you hide my stash?"

"I didn't bring any cigarettes. You quit, remember?" she replied.

"Liar. I just need _one_."

* * *

## F.B.I. Wire Tap# KRU-O-2012040401005  
New York City, NY

" _So, you understand the plan?_ "

" _It's a simple plan, not rocket science._ "

There is an answering huff on the other end of the line.

" _Fine. Yeah, I got it. Your guy'll call me with the location," the voice patronized. "I'll make sure it's enough of a bloodbath, they won't be sure who the real target was."_

" _Good...and when it's done, tell Soph it's time to come home."_

" _I'm not your messenger girl. Tell her yourself._ "

" _El-_ "

" _I swear to God if you use my real name on the phone I will feed you your own tongue, then disembowel you while you're alive, and do it again...and you know I have the skills to do it."_

There is a long silence. " _Just wait for the call._ "

* * *

## Jacob Vargas' Mansion  
The Corazon Muertos Cartel, Mexico

"What the hell were you thinking?" Jacob Vargas shouted as he paced the length of his office.

"What does it matter?"

"Jessica, you planned to sleep with the hostage!"

Alba rubbed at the bandage on her forehead. She screwed up her face angrily. "Oh, please! If he'd been a woman, you wouldn't care who made use of her!" she argued. "Besides, that has nothing to do with the rescue. They made your people look like fools."

Enraged, Vargas turned on the doctor and smacked her across the face, sending her stumbling back into his desk. "Remember who you're speaking to, puta. _You're_ one of my people, and they made just as much a fool of you."

Wide-eyed and momentarily stunned, she held a hand to her bleeding lip. Then her eyes narrowed as hatred filled them. She stood, straightening her shoulders. "Maybe you better remember who _you're_ speaking to, cabrón. _I'm_ more valuable to Corazon Muertas than you! _I'm_ the brains! I can take my formula anywhere. _You_ \-- you're just a _mule_!" She pointed at him as she screamed at him.

"How dare you-"

"And not even a good mule at that! You let the lab be destroyed! Months-worth of product gone!" She gestured wildly to indicate it went up in smoke. " _And_ you let their precious hostage get away!" She looked smug as she wiped at her bloody lip.

Vargas reached behind him and pulled an antique colt from his waistband. "Well, if I'm damned, at least let me go quietly." He pulled the trigger.

Alba collapsed to the floor without another sound. Her brain didn't even have the chance to register that perhaps she'd pushed him too far. 

* * *

## Between Jacob Vargas' Compound & Ciudad del Carmen, Mexico

"Want me to take a turn at the wheel?"

Jensen peaked at the passenger side. He quirked an eyebrow. He was relieved to see the lazy half-smile on Jay's face. Glancing in the rear view mirror at Katie dozing in the back seat, Jensen's mouth slipped into a lopsided smile. "I think we got it."

Jay shifted in the seat so he could better see the profile of the man he knew as "Tex." He crossed his arms, wrapping his fingers around his bare arms to keep them from trembling or to keep himself from trying to scratch itches that probably weren't really there. The aviators he'd borrowed from someone helped a little with the sharp stabbing pain of the mid-afternoon sunlight and allowed him to study his "angel in shining armor" without being too obvious. "Don't say I never offered," he joked, his deep voice husky from disuse and his earlier nausea. 

Jensen flashed him a smile. "I'll keep that in mind..." Eyes back on the road, he teasingly added, "But I'd hate to imagine what little extra things you'd be dodging in the road that the rest of us might not see."

Jay snorted in some half-amused-half-annoyed agreement. In fact, he'd put up a fight when Katie and Jensen insisted on injecting him with heroin when it became apparent he was suffering withdrawal. He'd argued that he didn't care how sick he got, he wanted to get the drugs out of his system. He could be a stubborn bastard when he wanted to be, and he managed to hold out for another two hours, until he felt like he was dying. Jay had thought the malaria had been bad, but withdrawal from this deadly version of heroin felt like something was ripping his guts out of his body with tweezers right through the pores of his skin. He was embarrassed to admit he'd begged for it to be over, ashamed that he'd craved the drug, needed it, wanted it. He was even more ashamed of the things he thought he may have said or done while on it or worse, the things he didn't remember saying or doing.

They were quiet for a while, just the sounds from the radio scanner zoning in and out. Earlier there had been a lot of chatter over the radio when they were around some of the bigger cities -- the police, the military, and various Mexican cartels making noise as the ripple effect of the attack on Vargas' compound spread. In one small city, there had been a harrowing car chase: the cartel attempted to reacquire their bargaining chip and the police attempted to stop the gunmen. The two SUVs separated in a successful diversionary tactic, and if the radio scanner was to be believed, Chris and Aldis took their three chasers on a wild ride that would have made the Dukes of Hazard proud, including a jump that left the last one in a ditch. Too bad there hadn't been moonshine involved.

"So..." Jensen struggled to find something to make conversation with Jay. "Hey, anyway you can hook me up with autographs from those tweens from those _Twilight_ movies? My kid sister has a birthday coming up." When he peeked over at Jay, the man was giving him a disbelieving look. "What?"

"Dude, I think I'm too old for their circle," Jay replied.

"Too old? Aren't they like 30? I thought all teenagers in movies and TV were really 30-somethings," Jensen joked.

"That's only those channels that aren't the big three -- you know, like the WB, CW, Fox...gotta make sure their stars are legal when they do their soft porn scenes," Jay said. "Not that I...I mean, I don't watch that crap."

Jensen snorted. "Yeah, no, me neither."

"Except _Twilight_ , right? Bet you like _Vampire Diaries_ too."

Jensen frowned at Jay. "Hell, no. I'm not into that angsty, whiny woe-is-me vampire crap. I'm Van Helsing, not Letwat."

The corner of Jay's lip twisted up as he chuckled. "You sure know a lot about those angsty, whiny vampires for someone who doesn't like them."

Jensen huffed and gripped the steering wheel tighter.

Jay chuckled again. "Anyway...you're better off asking Mom to hook you up with autographs. I don't really do that party scene."

Jensen let a slow smile slide across his face. "Yeah, I heard that about you."

Jay gave him a quizzical look.

Jensen shrugged. "Rumor from a photo journalist we know is you're something of a workaholic, didn't even go to your own award ceremony."

Jay tilted his head considering the statement. "Why-"

"We have a bio on you," Jensen frowned, staring hard at the road ahead. "For the mission."

Jay was quiet a moment. "Oh...right." That made sense. "Hardly seems fair. I didn't get bios on anyone before the trip." He tried to say it with a touch of humor but it fell flat. The bitterness and pain he felt at losing two weeks of his life and for no good reason just bled through a little too freely.

Jensen shook his head sympathetically. "Man... I'm sorry we didn't get to you sooner."

Jay frowned at his rescuer's apology. "Please...don't apologize. Especially when I should be thanking you."

"Well, you can't thank us yet. Not 'til you're home," Jensen replied with a small glance at Jay. "We don't count it as a success until you're home."

"Right...mission complete..." Jay reached for the bottle of water in the console.

Jensen caught the movement in the corner of his eye and turned in time to see Jay bringing the bottle back down, pink tongue darting out to moisten dry lips. Jensen's breath caught and he had to pull his gaze back to the road, his own tongue mimicking the other man's reflexively. He cleared his throat nervously. 

"So...uh...bios, huh? What do you want to know?" Jensen dared not glance back though that was exactly what he wanted to do. Without waiting for an answer, he said, "Well, Py -- Pyro -- he's our demolitions specialist and special effects guy."

"Special effects?" Jay crinkled his nose.

"Yeah, you know, like the fireworks last night. Kind of like our own _Lucas Industrial Lights & Magic_ combined with Siegfried & Roy but minus the tigers." When he noticed Jay's perplexed expression he added, "If you want fake bullet effects or one-directional C4, Py's the guy to see. He can also melt a perfect 2 inch round hole through 3 feet of steel without anyone noticing or set off every car alarm in a 3 mile radius, but best of all, he can disengage an IED blindfolded with one hand tied behind his back in less time than it takes to say it," Jensen grinned.

"Wow...that's some resume."

"I may or may not have exaggerated some of that, but I won't say what parts," Jensen smirked.

Jay chuckled. "Well, I hope I don't have to find out the hard way."

"Yeah, me either."

Jay took another sip of water. "Well, I guess that explains the Marvel super-villain nickname...and Bull?"

"Bull...is our weapons expert. Basically, if it can be used to cause damage during a fight, Bull knows how to use it. Everything from firearms to swords to duct tape-"

"Duct tape?" came the incredulous interruption.

"Yeah, I was a little surprised by that myself." Jensen shrugged.

Jay frowned, trying to figure out how that worked, but even his drugged out brain couldn't pull that strange imagery into pictures. "Huh."

"Yeah, so fightin', singin', and womanizin' -- he's your stereotypical good ole Southern boy."

"And the nickname?"

"'s what he looks like when he gets riled up -- a mean old bulldog whose bone's been taken from him or a bull who's just been woken up by a bee sting in his ass. His face gets all scrunched up and red and his neck disappears. Steam practically comes out of his ears. Might as well get out of his way or get run over."

Jay barked out a laugh before biting his bottom lip as if to catch the noise. Wide-eyed he peered in the back seat, afraid he might have disturbed the bossy sleeping beauty, but she just mumbled something and let the copy of last month's _Bride_ magazine slide to the floor as she shifted to curl further into a more comfortable position. He glanced back at Jensen and giggled quietly.

Jensen gave him a toothy grin and checked on Katie in the rear view mirror.

"What about the fairy princess back there?" Jay gestured to the woman whose golden locks now fell loosely around her face in her sleep. She looked much more deceptively harmless now, but Jay was sure he'd seen her shoot a man without blinking -- well, he was mostly sure.

"Tinkerbell?...she's our Jane-of-all-trades, but don't let that fool you, because she's probably ten-times smarter and a hundred-times better than any of us at anything that she knows how to do," he winked at Jay. "Most specifically, she's our resident security specialist for lack of a better term. She can break into any security system, safe, or lock."

"You mean, she's a thief," Jay remarked sounding a little surprised.

Jensen's look was more like a double take. "No -- uh -- well, I suppose, _technically_ someone could use that word. I mean, she has the skills, but Tink's never been..." He thought for the right words. "Let's just say that she's never been a criminal and leave it at that."

Jay titled his head, brow furrowed. Studying Jensen's profile, he tried to read between the lines. He glanced back at the slender woman in the backseat and tried to puzzle it out, but Jensen interrupted his thoughts.

"Look, Jay -- uh -- T., none of us talk about what we do outside of 'the office'." He cleared his throat. "Tink doesn't hardly talk about what she did before she came to work with us. Those things are just skills, part of the package we have to offer as 'Security Consultants'. We all bring different things to the table; some are more useful than others depending on the assignment. Hostage retrieval is just one of the services we provide."

Jay studied him for a few moments, letting the words seep into his foggy brain. Finally, Jay leaned forward so he was a few inches from Jensen. Managing to keep his voice steady to purposely leave a question as to the implication of his words, he quietly asked, "And, what skills do you bring to the table, Tex?"

Jensen tried to glance over but Jay was right there. He cleared his throat. Twice. "I -- uh -- I'm the team leader, the strategist."

"You're the brains behind everything?"

Jensen could feel Jay's breath not too far from his ear and cheek. "Uh. Yeah, once we agree to accept the assignment." He ran one hand over his mouth, scratching the stubble along his jaw nervously. "I usually discuss the details with everyone, but I make the decisions. Run the mission. Hands on."

"So, you're like a young, sexy Jim Phelps?"

Jensen turned slightly and Jay backed away just enough to give him space so they were an inch apart. His eyes darted back and forth between the road and Jay's slightly upturned cotton candy pink lips. "Sex- sexy? Um." He swallowed. "Actually, wasn't Phelps always hooking up with whatever model was on the mission that week? That's really not...my...thing." He used to be smoother. Didn't he used to be smoother?

Jay shook his head once. "I always kinda thought that was part of the cover too."

"Like a beard?" Jensen asked, trying the idea out in his head. Jim Phelps, gay secret super-agent. That would crush his mother's heart.

Jay nodded as he sat back in his seat, dimpled smile on display. "Yeah, Phelps and Leonard Nimoy's character probably had a thing going. That's way hotter than Spock and Kirk, don't you think?"

Jensen couldn't decide if he should be disturbed or turned on by the direction of this conversation. Well, parts of him had already decided to be turned on without his approval, but now really, really was not the time. He pressed his foot a little harder on the speed pedal. Not that it would change their pick up time. Still, promptness counted. Maybe Steve would be early. The sooner they were in L.A. the better.

Jay smiled at Jensen as if he knew what Jensen was thinking. 

In the backseat, Katie peeked from one semi-open eye and smiled smugly to herself. Neither of the boys noticed, as was her intention.

* * *

## The Ritz-Carlton, L.A.

John Glover was making good use of the well-stocked bar in their suite of rooms. If he was going to be sitting on his ass twiddling his thumbs while Gerry took up indoor walking as a sport, then he might as well try to enjoy it. Personally, if he were Gerry, he wouldn't waste another second in L.A. He could do more in New York than he could here, and all he was doing here was proving that actress Melinda Clarke owned married, Family man Gerald Padalecki; that was not what New York wanted in a head man.

John poured himself another Scotch just as a quick couple of knocks sounded on their suite door. He turned to see Gerald anxiously start to rise from the designer dark brown, suede couch. He dismissively waved the hand with the glass in it. "I'm already up."

He had to admit that he was a little surprised to see both of the women in the hallway, but he was also hopeful and curious. "Ladies, what a surprise." 

"Mr. Glover," Danni smiled politely in greeting. "May we come in?"

He opened the door further to admit the familiar redhead and business-like brunette. He let his eyes caress their feminine curves as they passed him. "What brings you here? Business or pleasure?"

Gerald stood as the two women entered the room. He ran a hand through his hair nervously, hoping they had some word on J.T., hoping the boy was safe, that this time he hadn't let his son down.

Danni was particularly glad she'd already passed the sleazy lawyer so he wouldn't see her roll her eyes. Truth was the man made her skin crawl, and she'd worked in D.C. where real two-faced slimy bastards lived, breathed, and preyed.

Genevieve was the picture of polite, business-political correctness. Her smile was small and apologetic. It suited her pulled back dark hair, pale face, and expensive but plain business dress. She was the epitome of professional school-marm-office-assistant. "Business, I'm afraid, Mr. Glover." She turned to Gerald, dismissing John completely. "We've come to collect you, Mr. Padalecki."

"If you're interested in seeing Ms. Clarke?" Danni added as incentive.

"Mel?" Gerald asked. "Of course. Let's go. Lead on."

"Great!" Both women smiled and headed for the door.

John started to put down the glass of Scotch as if he were going to tag along, but as Danni led Gerald into the hall, Genevieve stopped him.

"I don't think this is the kind of family talk you're invited to, if you get my drift," she said sternly.

John frowned at her and huffed, but he nodded and picked the Scotch up again. "Join me for a drink then?"

This time she didn't smile. "I'm afraid I have to get back to work. We seem to be unexpectedly busier than usual today. Enjoy the rest of your stay in L.A., Mr. Glover, if I don't see you again before you leave."

He didn't even have time to answer before the door was closing behind her. He frowned, feeling there was something off about that conversation but unable to put his finger on what it was.

Danni rode with Gerald in the elevator down three floors. When it stopped, she handed him a key card and told him the room number. Just as he was stepping off the elevator, she grabbed his arm so he was forced to turn back to face her.

She was biting her lip when his questioning gaze searched her face. "Look, this isn't going to make sense _right now_ , but I just wanted to say, whenever I have a big personal decision to make, I go with however I feel within the first five minutes and I don't turn back, because I can talk myself out of anything and usually my initial reaction is to do the right thing." She let go of his arm. "Okay?"

His face scrunched up as he tried to puzzle why the hell she was telling him this. "What?"

She nodded at him and pointed down the hall. "Okay."

The elevator slid shut an inch from his face, startling him enough to step backward. "O...kay." 

He turned around and ran his hand through his hair again. He tested his breath by breathing into his hand and trying to smell if it was sour, but he couldn't tell and it was really too late. Finally, he just took a deep breath and headed down to the correct room. He knocked as he used the key to opened the door.

"Mel?...Melinda?" he called out softly, soothingly, like someone trying to coax a frightened animal.

Once he was all the way into the living area of the suite, Samantha Ferris said, "She's not here." She stood near one of the windows that covered the entire wall displaying Los Angeles in all her architectural glory. Her hair fell around her shoulders over her silk blouse. She was wearing slacks and flats rather than her usual suit and heels as well. This mission was taking a toll on her.

Gerald stopped in his tracks and blinked at his mistress' cousin. He felt a chill run up his spine. Of course, he was grateful for everything she was doing to help his son. How could he not be. However, he and Sam had never exactly gotten along, and Melinda was her favorite cousin. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his gray slacks and cleared his throat. "Sam. I thought-"

"I know what you thought." She pursed her lips, squinting at some distant target before turning to look at him. "My girls were careful though. They never actually said Mel would be here," she smirked.

He frowned at her as he replayed the conversation in his head. "Why would you-"

"We need to talk."

"You could have just asked."

"Without that nosy ass-kisser of yours even suspecting it happened," she replied as she folded her arms across her chest.

He crossed to the armchair and sat, figuring this was going to be one of _those_ conversations. "All right, Sam. You have the floor," he gestured dramatically.

She rolled her eyes. "Don't patronize me, Gerry. You think I want to help you in any way?"

He snorted. "No, I think you'd nail yourself to a cross first...unless it meant helping Mel and J.T., and I appreciate that, I do. I'm grateful they have you, because obviously I'm the devil." He said the last bit with just enough of a hint of bitterness and humor to pull of self-depreciating as a joke, but Sam thought she saw something else.

She hesitated a moment. Finally, she dropped her arms and walked over to the couch. She picked up a folder as she sat down. "We traced the person who leaked J.T.'s travel info to a girl who works at the Travel Agency CareCorp uses."

Gerald's eyes narrowed as he sat forward. He looked murderous. "Who-"

Shaking her head, she held up her hand to stop him. "There's more, Gerry. A lot more. The girl was obviously a mole, she hooked up with Chad, J.T.'s best friend. She's only been here in L.A. a few months-"

"So, is she from Mexico?"

"No. Listen, Gerry," she cut him off sternly. Sighing, she opened the folder to glance over the contents. "This girl came from New York. She's the daughter of one of your business partners -- Kuklinski."

"Kuklinski? That doesn't make any sense!" Stunned, he ran a hand down his face. "I don't- Why would?" He pushed his palms against his eyes as he tried to focus, tried to wrap his mind around this insanity. He shook his head. "No. No. I don't believe it. It doesn't make any sense."

Sam held out the folder as an offering.

He reached for it but hesitated at the last second. Everything could change just by opening that folder. Finally, reluctantly, he pulled the folder out of her fingers. Damnit, he wasn't some ostrich with his head in the sand. He was Gerald _-fucking-_ Padalecki, mob boss. He'd ordered the deaths of friends for betrayals less conspiratorial. No one fucked with his family and that included his West Coast family too.

He flipped open the folder and then let his eyes slide over the documentation. He sat back in the chair as he began to sift through the pages, growing tenser as the minutes clicked by. At last, he closed the folder and set it on the table next to him.

"Would you like a drink?" Sam asked.

"Bourbon, if you got it."

She stood and headed for the bar. She poured one bourbon and mixed one martini. She handed him the drink when she returned. He still hadn't said anything, so she did.

"So. What are you going to do about it?"

Gerald's eyes flickered up to hers as he raised the bourbon to his lips. He brought the glass back down. "Sam, you already aren't my biggest fan. I don't think it's a good idea to discuss how I'm going to handle my business-"

She huffed and paced back to the window. "I showed that to you, Gerry, to give you a choice."

"A choice? What the hell are you talking about?"

"Do you know what the definition of insanity is?"

His face scrunched up in confusion at the sudden change of conversation. He shook his head. "Uh- no."

"It's doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results." She glared at him.

He stared blankly at her.

"That's you, Gerry! Haven't you learned anything from this experience? Haven't you heard that you reap what you sow? Kuklinski arranging for the Cartel to take J.T.? That's you reaping what you've sown, Gerry!"

"Well, what do you want me to do, Sam? You don't retire from the mob," he replied with exasperation. "There's one way out."

She paused. "Actually..."

He gaped at her.

"How much do you love your family?" she asked.

* * *

## Between Jacob Vargas' Compound & Ciudad del Carmen, Mexico

Jay didn't recognize the name of the gas station on the rusty sign -- not that his Spanish reading level was that spectacular anyway. The only light for miles around came from this dingy gas station and the hole-in-the-wall tavern next door. He'd lost track of time in between dozing, idle chit-chat, and napping; somehow it had become night. The other SUV had rejoined them while he was asleep, and now it was gassing up next to them, its occupants shooting the breeze with "Tex" under a flickering fluorescent light as Jay watched through the passenger window.

"He's not just our strategist, you know."

Jay jerked, pulling himself into a upright position. He'd forgotten the bossy blonde was sitting in the driver's seat. "What?" He blinked at her.

"Tex." She rolled her eyes. "He's not good with his own PR."

Jay studied her serious expression. He nodded. "I kinda got that. Things are a little scrambled upstairs, but I think I can still get a read on people...once I figure out they're real."

The corner of her mouth curled into a crooked smile. "Yeah? What kind of read do you get on Tex?"

Chewing on his bottom lip, Jay turned back to the window to watch Jensen wrestling with Chris. "He likes to think he comes off all James-Dean-rebel-without-a-cause-tough and it makes him uncomfortable for anyone to see the him beneath bravado, but the flashes of what's down there seem...sincere."

Her eyes narrowed; her gaze became so piercing he felt it and turned back to face her. "That's incredibly insightful."

"I'm incredibly high."

A slow smile spread across her face. "Funny."

He returned the smile. "I really wasn't trying to be."

Chuckling, she reached over to squeeze his face between her thumb and her index finger, making him look a little like a chipmunk. "Oh, you're really too cute. If I weren't taken and you weren't gay..." Smirking, she dropped her hand.

Jay was too stunned to have an answer to that.

She grew serious again. "You ever read any fantasy novels or maybe seen one of those ridiculous cliché quest movies, J.T.?"

Dizzy from the sudden change of topic, he blinked at her. "...uh...yeah, I guess...when I was younger."

"You know, how the cliché fantasy quests all go, right?" She spoke with her hands. "The core of any questing party is made up of a basic foursome -- a magician, a barbarian, a thief, and a knight." She watched him to make sure he was following along.

His brow was furrowed as he tried to puzzle out where she was going with this.

"So...metaphorically, Py is our magician, Bull is our barbarian, I'm the so-called thief..." She left the remainder of the words dangling for him to catch on his own hook and reel in.

His eyes darted to meet hers. "And Tex is the knight? What makes him particularly knightly?" he teased. In his mind, he had his own reasons why Tex fit the knight in shining armor scenario, but clearly, she was going somewhere in particular with this analogy.

"Well, real knights protect the defenseless and fight for the general welfare of everyone," she replied, watching him. "They're honorable and usually they have a code they follow, right? Knights are idealists."

"So...because he's a good guy?"

"No, J.T.," she snapped. She paused to push out the annoyance. "Tex is the real deal, okay? He's more than just a good guy...The rest of us? Before we took this job, we all thought we were 'fighting the good fight'." Her pale fingers sharply gestured in the filtered light. "But for us, the path to victory is destruction. For Tex? …Saving lives is always the priority, always has been, but he _never_ makes promises because nothing's a sure thing. He _believes_ in the mission; it's always about doing the right thing for him. It's about finding the path of least bloodshed and less heartache." She peered out the front windshield. "He's our conscience; he keeps us honorable...we all wanted to be whole again, and he's the one who makes that possible."

The car was quiet for a few minutes before Jay said, "That's really...insightful."

"Shut up," she replied.

The back door on the passenger side opened, and Jensen climbed in the back seat. "All right, we're full up. Let's hit the road, Tinkerbell."

"Don't call me 'Tinkerbell'," she grumbled, starting the engine.

"Would you prefer 'Ruby'?" he asked.

She gestured rudely before pulling the SUV onto the road behind the other one.

It was a full twenty minutes before Jay said, "Bull is a barbarian."

* * *

## Twelve Days Since Abduction  
Ciudad del Carmen, Mexico

Jay huddled on the floor out of sight between the front and back seats of the SUV. With his one leg stretched, unbendable, over the hump in the floorboard, it was not comfortable, though it was not the most uncomfortable position in which he'd been in his life or even in the last few weeks. He bent forward with his arms wrapped over his head. He had three current goals: A.) Don't throw up. B.) Don't get shot. C.) Don't die in a horrible car accident. The order wasn't particularly important.

Katie drove as if she was second in a NASCAR race as they made their way through the busy mid-afternoon traffic of Ciudad del Carmen. The traffic was less worrisome than the six Jeeps full of armed men behind them. With her foot pressing the gas pedal to the floor, she only managed to keep ahead by using the passed by cars as obstacles. She'd come too close to this one or cut off that one and the cars had to slam on their brakes or swerve to avoid her. She was the queen of Xbox driving games.

The second SUV had been strategically abandoned as an exploding decoy in an attempt to fake their deaths early that morning. Clearly, that hadn't had the desired effect. 

However, the maneuver added gun-power to the single SUV. Jensen, Aldis, and Chris took turns leaning out the windows and using the bad guys as target practice, careful not to hit any civilians in the crossfire. Jensen was adamant about aiming away from the civvies; deductions were taken from their paychecks for any civilian casualties.

"Everyone, hold on!" Katie warned as she hopped the vehicle over a raised median into oncoming traffic and began weaving her way through like a stunt driver with superior reflexes. 

"Holy Shit, Tink!" Chris swore in disbelief. "You are so never driving my truck again!"

Without warning, she wrenched the steering wheel hard so the vehicle hopped back over the median and swung across three lanes of traffic and onto an off ramp headed toward the private International airfield. She smirked as Aldis let out a high-pitched unmanly screech. "Why not? I've got a perfect driving record."

"They just can't handle not being in control," Jensen shrugged at her.

She shook her head, "Yeah."

Her driving stunt helped them at least for the moment lose the drug dealers on their trail.

"You okay back there, Jay?" Jensen asked, twisting in the seat to rest a hand on the top of Jay's shoulder even as the big man tried to make himself smaller on the floor.

He wasn't, hadn't been since he'd begun Mr. Toad's Wild Ride through Wonderland. Jay made a noncommittal sound.

Jensen patted his shoulder gently. "It's okay. It's going to be okay," he soothed. "We're almost there, alright?" As Jensen started to pull his hand away, Jay grabbed his arm, long, trembling fingers wrapped around bare skin. The awkward position kept him from doing anything more intimate than mirroring the action, his own fingers around Jay's forearm, offering strength and comfort. "Okay?" Jensen said softly.

Pained hazel held concerned moss. "Yeah," Jay breathed, but he didn't let go.

Jensen realized that Jay wasn't trembling. He was afraid; of course he was afraid. Anyone would be crazy not to be, but what Jensen had mistaken for trembling was the beginnings of withdrawal tremors. He reviewed the last thirty-six hours and realized the windows between Jay's fixes had been getting shorter, though Jay had stubbornly refused to ask for the drug when he began to feel the withdrawal. The research on Ixtab showed the withdrawal could be deadly. Thus, Katie had been in super-observant mother-hen mode most of the trip.

Katie flung an arm across Jensen to pin him to the car seat. "Hold on!"

Jensen turned his head toward the front of the vehicle just in time to see it barrel through the entry gate for the airport. "Was that necessary?" he glanced at her.

She shrugged as she returned her hand to the steering wheel. "Every second counts."

"Next time, I'm driving the last leg," Chris announced, keeping an eye out the window for the plane.

Aldis was kneeling on the backseat, leaning over it, and digging in the bags in the cargo space like a giant kid. "Next time, we are _not_ driving cross country as part of the plan."

Katie came around a turn and _The Barbara Ann_ came into view. It was the most beautiful eyesore Jensen had ever seen. She clearly either hadn't been there long or had been expecting them any minute because the engine was running and the retractable ramp was in place.

Katie spun the SUV in a 180° turn and stopped it on an unseen dot right in front of the ramp with a grin.

"Now you're just showing off," Jensen stated. He squeezed Jay's arm, silently trying to assure Jay he was going to be okay, that Jensen was going to take care of him, that Jensen had him. All the things he couldn't say, he said with a gesture.

Katie winked at Jensen and laughed at Aldis who'd fallen face first into the cargo area.

Chris didn't wait for orders, just slammed the back door open. He was moving to open the cargo area door when Steve appeared in the hatch of the plane.

"Better hurry. We got incoming," Steve called.

Katie's face turned serious. She quickly abandoned the driver's seat to help Chris. Aldis climbed out of the back of the SUV -- or maybe he fell like a rag doll. "Stop playing. We got incoming bogies," Katie told him.

"Jay, I'm gonna let go now, okay?" Jensen said calmly. "Then I'm gonna come 'round to the back and help you and your gimp leg get out of the car. That okay?"

Jay took a few deep breathes. His head was still spinning from the car chase. In fact, he felt like the car was still moving at the same high speed, but he and Tex were the only ones left inside so it had to be parked. Right? "Uh...yeah...okay." He slowly let his fingers loosen their death grip on his angel's arm.

Jensen quickly got out of the SUV. When he came around to the open door, he realized how not easy getting Jay out was going to be. He rubbed his eyes with two fingers on one hand and then ran his hand down his face before setting his shoulders and bracing his legs. "All right then." He clapped his hands together. "First, let's scootch you up until you’re sitting with your legs hanging over. Can we do that?"

Jay huffed a laugh and smirked at him. He was in a lot of pain, including a migraine from Hell, but he wasn't an invalid or stupid. "I'm not five."

"No...you're definitely too big for five," Jensen replied.

Jay laughed as he tried to get out of the wedge he'd been stuffed into on the floor. Jensen maneuvered his cast and helped guide his good leg to where there was open space. Jay began to inch in that direction.

The distant sound of squealing wheels could be heard on tarmac. 

Aldis suddenly appeared behind Jensen blocking the light and the door behind Jay swung open. "Taking too much time, man," Chris said from behind him.

"Well? What do you want me to do about it?" Jay complained with frustration.

"Tex? Lift?" Chris asked as he slid his hands under Jay's arms.

Jensen paused, eyes studying the situation, and then nodded, as he gained understanding. He shifted so both his hands were under the cast and Aldis moved in so he had both hands under Jay's other leg. 

"Wait! Wha-" Jay cried.

"One. Two," Aldis counted.

On three, the three men lifted and Jay went from the floor to the backseat.

"One. Two," Aldis counted again.

The next thing he knew, Jay was outside the SUV supported by Jensen and Aldis. 

The Jeeps that had been chasing them earlier were in view on the tarmac. Chris and Katie were firing weapons at them. Jensen and Aldis grabbed Jay in a fireman's carry and then sprinted for the hatch.

A red-haired man Jay had never seen before appeared on the ramp and joined Katie and Chris in covering their retreat. His appearance gave Jensen pause but only for half a second before he remembered he had 6'5" cargo in his arms and crazy drug dealers shooting at them. 

Jensen needed to focus on priorities.

Jensen and Aldis helped Jay onto the bench seat at the back of the plane. "Ventura!" Jensen yelled as if it was an order not a name. 

"On it!" Steve shouted from the front of the plane.

"So, you're gonna like this, J.T.," Aldis was rambling to distract their guest. "This' the best seat in the house. Better than a La-Z-boy." He grinned as he moved around to release the levers holding the back upright. 

The gunfire grew louder. Jay winced at each horrifying clang that had to be bullets meeting the outside surface of the plane. He figured holes in a plane were not a good thing. In the movies, it never was. He didn't understand how the two men hovering over him could be so calm. 

"Hold on, now," Jensen warned as he held Jay steady in a sitting position when the back fell away. 

Jay panicked at the sudden lack of support behind him. Everything was moving a little too fast.

Everyone else just kept moving in the coordinated chaos as if they thrived on it. Katie pulled the ramp up as Chris and the new arrival fired a few last shots. 

"See, it's like one of them full-mattress futon couches, but with wings," Aldis grinned. 

The plane was already taxiing to the runway by the time the hatch closed.

"Oh, mother-" Chris complained, examining a bloody hole in his pants leg.

Aldis and Jensen got Jay to lie down and strapped him in, which was not an easy task for Jensen considering, Jay was at this point really kind of terrified and gripping his shirt.

"Bull!" Katie smacked his head from behind. "Shut up already, you big baby. It's just a flesh wound."

"I _know_ , but I really liked these pants," he whined.

Steve's voice sounded over the speakers. "Seats and tables in their upright positions, everyone. No time to strap in!"

When he said that there was no time, he meant the plane's wheels were already leaving the ground. Everyone had time to grab something to hold on to for the takeoff and that was it. If you hadn't been sitting down or holding on by the time he finished talking, you were out of luck, and the new guy found out the hard way by landing in an empty chair at the wrong angle, ending up with some uncomfortable bruises.

Jensen spent the whole take off kneeling on the floor, bent over Jay and holding on to Jay's shoulders, trying not to fall on top of him or anything inappropriate. He just kept whispering things like "It's okay," "you're alright," and "you're safe now." He didn't notice his right hand gently stroking Jay's hair, brushing it away from his forehead, letting his thumb caress the bruise on his cheek.

Jay slowly began to relax as he focused solely on Jensen, on Jensen's touch, on his face, on his beautiful eyes and on how he was looking at him. He licked his lips and caught Jensen watching the action. When Jensen's eyes flickered back up to his again, he whispered, "Tell me it's not _all_ in my head."

Jensen gave him a puzzled look.

"I mean, I know I'm really messed up right now, but I didn't imagine...tell me I haven't imagined you."

Jensen felt a flutter in his chest. He so shouldn't encourage this. There were so many reasons why he shouldn't, but he couldn't think of a single one when Jay was looking at him like that. He felt a slow lopsided smile spread across his face. "I'm as real as you want me to be."

"And you're not going to disappear into the sunset when we get to L.A.?"

Jensen frowned a little before thinking of a compromise. "If I do, I'll do my damnedest to reappear." It was the closest to a promise he could make.

Jay looked a little confused, but he decided it sounded somewhat romantic in his foggy brain. "Okay, then, Tex." He leaned up to kiss his angel in shining armor.

"Jensen."

Jay hesitated. "Uh- what?"

"That's my name. Jensen. I just wanted you to know." He blushed.

Jay blinked. Then he smiled, dimples and all. "Jensen."

Smiling shyly, he bent down and kissed him gently. Nothing like he wanted to. He'd save that for later; this was just a small promise for later.

Even so, the scene brought unwanted attention that promised he would never hear the end of things -- whistles and catcalls and applause that embarrassed them both.


	7. Chapter Six: A Pretty Face Can Hide An Evil Mind

# Chapter Six: A Pretty Face Can Hide An Evil Mind

_Beware of pretty faces that you find  
A pretty face can hide an evil mind  
Ah, be careful what you say  
Or you'll give yourself away  
Odds are you won't live to see tomorrow  
\-- Johnny Rivers , _ Secret Agent Man

## Twelve Days Since Abduction  
The Barbara Ann, in flight

"What are you doing on my plane?" Jensen demanded.

" _My plane_!" Steve objected from the cockpit.

Jensen ignored him in favor of being irrationally irate. Chris stood menacingly behind Jensen with his arms folded across his chest.

"What? No 'Hi, Alan, long-time-no-see' or 'thanks for the help, Alan' or 'how's it hangin', buddy'?" Alan Tudyk, their unexpected guest, asked, completely unruffled by having Jensen in his face.

Aldis handed Katie one of the bags of white cheddar popcorn he looted from Steve's stash as she sat down next to the now sedated Jay. She handed him a cold soda can as they settled in for the floor show.

"No," Jensen spat. "Because _you_ aren't supposed to be here. Ventura, he isn't supposed to be here!"

"Not supposed to be here!" Steve repeated. "Got it, babe!"

Jensen glared in the direction of the cockpit before turning his angry expression back on Alan. "How are you even here? _Why_ are you here?"

Alan reached into his jacket pocket, and wasn't that just the kicker? The damned Fed was dressed in a suit and tie. At least if he was going to barge into one of Jensen's missions, he could dress less like a government stiff. He pulled a small device out of his pocket. "Present from your Momma."

Frowning, Jensen ripped the thing from his fingers. Without examining it, he handed it back to Chris. 

No bigger than a thumb drive, it had one small earbud that pulled out on an attached cable. Chris inserted the earbud and pressed his thumb on the print recognition spot. He listened to the message with a frown, and then yanked the earbud from his ear with a growl. "Yeah, he's legit. We got some sort of situation in L.A." 

Jensen folded his arms across his chest and stared at Alan expectantly. "Talk fast."

Chris stalked over to grab Aldis' popcorn bag. Then he plopped into the nearest seat.

"Hey!" Aldis protested fruitlessly. Katie handed him what was left of her bag. "You know you're my favorite, right?"

"God, you really have gotten crankier since leaving New York, haven't you?" Alan replied.

"Actually, I'm usually fucking perky after three days in the field with drug dealers chasing me and nearly having my ass shot, and when I'm this close to mission complete I'm damned adorable. I'm pleased as punch to have an uninvited F.B.I. agent show up to throw more obstacles in my path; so you better fucking start explaining, Alan, before I really get downright excited."

"Azrael is in L.A.," the redheaded man said with a sudden lack of humor.

Jensen blinked. He took a step away from Alan. He shook his head. "Get off my plane." He pointed to the hatch. Katie, Aldis and Chris leaned forward at this intriguing new development.

"No, Jen, I'm serious," Alan replied.

"Yeah, I know you are." Jensen nodded. "I don't see what that has to do with my mission or me. We're just going to get Jay home and-"

"Jen, I know about Padalecki and the Cartel and the kidnapping, okay?" Alan sputtered, flailing his arms. "Listen to me. Your people and my people kind of came together on this from both sides."

Jensen shook his head. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"There's a coup going on in the Padalecki mob family. The unhappy parties arranged for Padalecki to get entangled in this kidnapping mess with the Cartel to make him look weak. Since it didn't go like they hoped..." Alan shrugged. "They've put a hit out. Except we're not sure if the hit is on Padalecki or Clarke. We only know it's Azrael."

"Shit!" Aldis swore.

"Mother-" Chris swore.

"Fuck a duck!" Katie added to the mix.

Jensen stood with his hand over his mouth. Anyone who didn't know him well, might have thought he was in shock, but Katie, Chris and Aldis knew that was the grey cells booting up for high availability processing.

Chris headed for Steve's coffee maker. He hovered over the canisters wondering which would be the best choice before he remembered Steve kept the best coffee hidden behind the health food bars no one would eat. "Brain juice coming up!"

"And they're sure it's Azrael?" Jensen finally asked.

" _I'm_ sure," Alan assured him.

Jensen shook his head. "No, uh-uh. You've been chasing this chick for five years, Alan. You thought you had her before. You're too personally invested. I can't believe they're even letting you keep working the case, man. I don't believe you."

Alan reached in his other pocket and pulled out a digital recorder. "I have her on wiretap. It's her." He smiled triumphantly, blue eyes flashing almost wildly.

Jensen leaned in to listen and Alan pressed play.

" _So, you understand the plan?_ "

Alan paused the recording. "That's Olek Kruppa. He's one of Gerald Padalecki's business partners, but he's been working some deals with Gerald's son Jeff recently."

Jensen didn't reply, just glared at Alan until he pressed play again.

" _It's a simple plan, not rocket science._ "

Alan paused the recording. "That's her." Alan nodded at Jensen. He waited for Jensen reply. 

Jensen kept his expression neutral and gestured for him to continue. Thus the recording began again.

There was an answering huff on the other end of the line.

" _Fine. Yeah, I got it. Your guy'll call me with the location,"_ the voice patronized. _"I'll make sure it's enough of a bloodbath, they won't be sure who the real target was."_

" _Good...and when it's done, tell Soph it's time to come home."_

" _I'm not your messenger girl. Tell her yourself._ "

" _El-_ "

" _I swear to God if you use my real name on the phone I will feed you your own tongue, then disembowel you while you're alive, and do it again...and you know I have the skills to do it."_

There was a long silence. " _Just wait for the call._ "

Alan paused the recording. "That's her, right? Azrael?" 

Jensen sat down slow but hard in the nearest seat. You'd think that after eight years, some memories would fade. He still remembers what he ate for breakfast that morning. He remembered the dirty joke Baldwin told in the locker room. He remembered the smell of the room after the flashbang grenades, the look of certain terror and absolute hopelessness on Summer Glau's face, and he remembered every word Eliza Dushku said.

 _"You bastards!...You killed her! Bastards! I was taking care of her and you killed her! You'll pay! I'll make you pay!_ " 

He still woke up in the middle of the night, halfway through having done everything differently and feeling no better about it.

"Jen?" Alan repeated his name. "I'm right," he said with more certainty. He eased into the seat next to Jensen.

"Jensen," Katie whispered, her voice full of concern and support.

Jensen's eyes snapped to Alan's. His expression was all business. He stood and paced a few steps away. "So, what're you doing here, Alan? You wanna use my client as bait?"

"He's already a target, Jen," Alan replied. "I'm here to help protect him in the center of the trap."

"No. No way," Chris objected. Chris took up his menacing stance again.

"Yeah, we're not going to let you use poor J.T. as an unwitting pawn in some Federal mob takedown," Katie declared, standing just so she could put her foot down. She crossed her arms across her chest mimicking Chris' stance.

"He's been through enough," Chris added.

Alan watched the display of protectiveness with an amused smirk. He stood so he could at least look them in the face when he reminded them, "It doesn't really matter what you want. This plane has to land in L.A. and everybody from the mob to the FBI are going to be super focused on watching the hatch. The second Mr. Clarke leaves the plane, the FBI'll have-"

Aldis burst into laughter - not quiet giggling, not soft, amused chuckling, but the stitch-in-your-side, obnoxious-in-the-movie-theater loud kind of laughter, including pointing and tears coming to his eyes.

Alan was stunned into confused silence. He glanced over to Katie and Chris and noticed their angry faces were melting into amused mischievousness. Warning sirens were going off in his brain. He spun on his heel in time to catch sight of Jensen or rather Jensen's ass as he entered the cockpit. He looked back over his shoulder at the three who were grinning gleefully at him. "What the fuck?" he asked.

* * *

## The Ritz-Carlton, L.A.

"Are you sure you want to do this? If we leave now, we can just make the next plane to New York," John Glover suggested as he and his boss entered the hotel hallway.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, Gerald Padalecki stopped and turned toward the lawyer. "Look, John, you're more than welcome to head back now, but I just want to see with my own two eyes that my son is safe, okay?"

John rubbed his forehead. Sounding greatly inconvenienced, he replied, "Fine, but can't Melodie-"

" _Melinda_ ," John interrupted angrily.

John shook his head as he corrected himself. " _Melinda_. Can't Melinda just call you once the boy is back and give you the details? I mean, isn't that how you've been handling the boy up to now?" He shrugged off Padalecki's glare. "You're the one who said he didn't want anything to do with you. I'm sure this whole affair hasn't changed that, Gerry. I'm just trying to save you some heartache." He put his hand on Padalecki's shoulder in what might have been an attempt at comfort but came off as insincere.

Padalecki shook off the touch. "Is that what you're trying to save me?" he mumbled as he stalked down the hall to the elevators.

Coincidentally, Sam, Melinda, and Genevieve stepped onto the elevator a few floors below them. John attempted to charm the young office assistant on the ride down as Padalecki tried to quietly assure his mistress that everything was going to be all right, that their son, _her_ son was going to be all right. 

Still angry with him, Melinda was also upset and nervous. Sam was being tight-lipped, though Melinda knew that they were being given a special privilege -- normally families didn't meet the incoming plane, but she was family, real family and they were being given special consideration. Her baby was on the plane, but no one would tell her if he was well, if he was even alive. 

And this was all Gerry's fault. 

And, God, it was her fault for not ending it with Gerry the second she found out she was pregnant and keeping J.T. really and truly apart and a secret from that life. And if anything really awful had happened to him, she would never forgive herself.

When the elevator doors opened, she hurried out of the elevator, untangling herself from her lover and Sam and their comforting touches and words. She didn't want either, couldn't stand them. They were making everything worse. "Stop. Stop...touching...just stop." As the other passengers started to follow her out, she turned to face Gerry, and said, "He better be okay, Gerry. My baby better be..." She covered her mouth with her hand and blinked back tears. "I could always live without you." She hurried to the front of the hotel where the cars were waiting.

"Mel!" Sam called as she jogged after her cousin, sparing only an accusatory glance for Padalecki as she shoved past him.

Less than thirty seconds passed before Genevieve took hold of both John's arm and Padalecki's arm. "Gentlemen, please come with me." She led them in the same direction as the other women. "Due to the previous incidents during car rides, you will be riding in a separate car. I hope you don't mind," she said matter-of-factly, as if she didn't care if they minded.

They exited the hotel and found themselves facing two black town cars with tinted windows and uniformed drivers. The women were already being ushered into the front car.

"Of course we won't mind," John oozed. "Especially if we're honored with your lovely company during the ride."

She graced them with a pinched smile. "You'll have to honor yourselves with your own company I'm afraid. I have to get back to the office. I'm afraid of what will happen if that techno-geek is left unsupervised too long."

"Too bad," John replied with sincere disappointment.

"Thank you, Miss Cortese," Padalecki said politely, shaking her hand gently.

She hesitated, and then clasped his large hand between her tiny pale, manicured hands. "Good luck, Mr. Padalecki." She patted his hand once and let go before walking away. It was the most emotion she'd honestly expressed in the few days he'd been in Los Angeles and it gave Gerald Padalecki the willies.

* * *

## Van Nuys Airport, L.A.

John checked his watch for the twelfth time.

"Why don't you just get out and stare at the sky? Maybe the plane'll come quicker," Gerald suggested with an obvious edge of aggravation.

Surprised by the tone, John grimaced. "No, I'm sorry, I just thought when we left the hotel that the arrival was imminent. I didn't realize we'd be sitting in parked cars for almost a half hour. If I'd known, I'd have brought some briefs to work on."

Gerald highly doubted that. He rolled his eyes and gestured toward the minibar. "Why don't you take the edge off, John?"

John hesitated, and then decided he really could use something to ease his nerves. He leaned forward and began to sift through the tiny bottles. "Something you want?"

"Scotch," he replied. If he was honest with himself, he could use a small belt of courage this one time.

John poured him the Scotch, no ice, just as he preferred when he was stressed. Once John had a martini for himself, they were back to the tense quiet, which was thankfully relieved by the sound of a Cessna landing nearby. Their driver opened the door moments later. Gerald told John he might was well wait in the car, but he followed Gerald onto the tarmac anyway, smoothing out the wrinkles from his $1000 suit as he stood, hoping this whole thing would be over quickly. 

Gerald couldn't help but notice how fidgety John was and it wasn't just that he was out of his element. As they got out of the car, he noticed how John's eyes scanned the area as if he were looking for something. Gerald pretended not to notice, instead turning to try to meet Melinda's eye. However, Melinda was wearing those dark, round sunglasses that hid half of her face from stalkers, paparazzi and fans; plus her body language screamed extremely tense. She was super focused on the plane hatch as the ramp came down. Sam at least tilted her head at him in acknowledgement. He nodded back at her, feeling the weight of their discussion from the day before heavy on his soul.

He turned to watch as the waiting ambulance pulled closer to the plane. Paramedics spilled out like clowns from a circus car. Aldis and a blond man in a Hawaiian shirt appeared at the plane hatch briefly before disappearing back inside with the medics. Melinda rushed forward with Samantha right behind to keep her from getting in the way.

Gerald chose to stay where he was. Not only was he out of everyone's way, but he knew he was the last person J.T. wanted to see. He was here for selfish reasons.

He could see Melinda wringing her hands nervously at the bottom of the ramp while they waited. Aldis and the man in the Hawaiian shirt came out first and began speaking to Sam. After ten minutes, the paramedics began carrying the now occupied stretcher down the ramp. Melinda took a few steps toward the stretcher, reaching for it.

Gerald moved closer himself. From where he was standing, he couldn't really see J.T. Obviously, the boy was _not_ all right, but how "not all right" was even less evident with the way the paramedics were crowding him. They could be just being overly cautious because of his broken leg or he could have first-degree burns on half his body and Gerald wouldn't know from where he was. So he moved closer toward the plane away from the car and John.

All hell broke loose.

Multiple bullets fired from a nearly indeterminable location. The spacing of the hangers and other buildings in the privately owned airport as well as the small planes parked here and there made for perfect cover, distortion of sound and echoing: a sniper's wet dream.

Plenty happened all at once, not all of it chaotic. Sure, there was some screaming, but there was some yelling too: yelling of instructions, yelling for help. There was also a lot of movement, though some of it was involuntary. Some people were diving for cover or acting as shields for others, but some people were shot and falling.

As soon as the shooting stopped, Katie and Chris appeared at the top of the ramp. Drawing their guns, they swiftly joined Aldis. The three of them along with the two drivers began a sweep of the area. 

Sirens warned of approaching emergency vehicles.

Swearing in two languages, John lay on the ground clutching his right leg where he'd been hit by the sniper. He looked around and noted Gerald Padalecki was face down on the tarmac, one of the paramedics was leaning over him, checking his pulse. It didn't look good. He'd tried to warn Gerald. _ShitFuck_. He wasn't supposed to get shot as a reward. _Mother-_

Police cars and ambulance began arriving. John lay back as one of the paramedics finally began to attend to his leg.

* * *

## Two hours Before The Barbara Ann lands in Van Nuys  
Interstate 5 between San Diego and L.A.

" _Okay, Tex, here are the specs you requested of Van Nuys_ ," Misha announced through the webcam on Katie's iPad. " _I've run them through the 3-D cad so everything is spatially correct from every angle._ "

"Perfect, Geek, I owe you -- uh -- something big," Jensen replied.

" _I already have something in mind_ ," Misha replied.

"Uh..."

Misha grinned mischievously and the Skype window closed.

Jensen blinked, feeling a little worried, but Chris cleared his throat forcing him to refocus. "Okay...so, let's figure out the best place for a sniper to position herself in Van Nuys," he said, pulling up Misha's 3-D mapping and sharing it with Katie and Chris.

Alan frowned as he drove the van. "How is it you guys have all this technology and we're still on Windows 2000?"

"You're working for the wrong government agency," Katie replied absently. "All the real funding goes to the ones no one knows about."

Jensen ignored her. "We're in the private sector. We reinvest our earnings in ourselves."

"Why do you think all the cool kids leave the government jobs to come work for us?" Chris added with a smirk.

Alan quirked an eyebrow. He knew Jensen's background. They had both worked in E.S.U. before things had gone to shit, before Nate drank himself into early retirement; before Alan's partner Adam, moonlighting as a bodyguard, had been killed by Azrael. Then, Jensen left for GSC, Alan went to Quantico, and Gina became involved with an underground domestic abuse program, which assisted in re-locating victims under new identities.

However, he knew nothing about Jensen's teammates or even about GSC. The reason the F.B.I. had sent him was that he knew Jensen, not that he was one of the experts on Azrael. In fact, they had been reluctant because of his obsession with the hit-woman.

"I don't know, why?" he replied.

Chris snorted but didn't respond. He just began to point out possibilities to Jensen.

Jensen glanced out the window at the ambulance behind them, comforted by the fact Jared was safely off the plane, in the States, and on his way to the hospital where he would meet up with his physician and his mother. Jensen wished he were going with him, didn't want to leave the man's side for some reason, but this was something he needed to do for both of them.

* * *

## One hour Before The Barbara Ann lands in Van Nuys  
Van Nuys, L.A.

Chris wanted to leave Alan in the van. Privately, Jensen agreed, but Alan was having none of that. "Uh-uh, no way, Jen, you know full well, the fastest way to search is to split up, but we both know it has to be pairs against Azrael."

Katie snorted.

Jensen grinned at her. "Alan, in the time it's taking to argue with you, Tink and Bull could have swept the whole place, disarmed the target, and contained her with duct tape." He massaged the bridge of his nose between two fingers with his eyes closed while he imagined it.

Alan gaped. "I - uh - I think you're patronizing me."

"No. He's not," Chris replied simply as he finished arming himself. He turned to Jensen. "Rock-Paper-Scissors?"

Jensen stared at Chris a moment, while Katie waited patiently. Finally, he sighed as he came to a reluctant acceptance of his lot in life. "No, I'll take him. You and Tink take the right side of the map."

Chris and Tink nodded. Tink adjusted her earpiece. "Gotcha."

Chris mock saluted before he followed Tink toward a series of hangers to search for the sniper hit-woman.

Jensen turned to Alan and rolled his eyes. "All right. Come on. We're running out of time."

Alan always had a theory that the hit-woman dubbed Azrael, the Angel of Death, used packs of cigarettes to prop open the stairwell doors when she needed such a thing. It was simple, common, and likely to go unnoticed. Therefore, when they were searching in the building that doubled as a storehouse and the tower, finding a pack of Luckies wedged between the ceiling and the hatch at the top of the ladder leading to the roof was like finding an arrow pointing to the Holy Grail to him.

Jensen whispered to Chris and Katie over the comms what they had found and that they were going to follow the lead. He rolled his eyes as he finished his report because Alan was already half way up the ladder. Despite all the years and even training with the F.B.I., Alan was still the reckless adrenaline junkie he had been in E.S.U. Adam's death had given him obsession not maturity.

Shaking his head, he followed Alan up the ladder. 

At least Alan didn't just barge right on up onto the roof. When he reached the top, he slid over on the ladder, making room for Jensen to join him. The crack the cigarette pack made wasn't wide enough to see anything. They couldn't hear anything but each other's breathing either, and it was less than sexy.

Jensen pushed the cigarette pack onto the roof as he held the hatch door in place. Jensen and Alan each put a hand on the hatch door and slowly inched it upward. Jensen's heart was pounding in his chest. She was just a woman, a crazy woman. She might be a famous, legendary hitman, but she was still human. She bled. She felt. She had good days. She had bad days, and he had shared one of her really bad days eight years ago. Of course, she'd promised to kill him for it. Now he was about to give her that chance.

"Eyes on the target," Katie whispered in Jensen's ear. 

The unexpectedness of it almost made him lose his balance, almost made him swear aloud.

Chris snickered softly in his ear.

Jensen's eyes narrowed. He frowned and his jaw clenched. 

Alan gave him a questioning look because they hadn't provided Alan with a comm earpiece.

"She's on the other side of the building. There's a huge vent blocking her view if she did turn around," Chris reported.

Jensen nodded, wondering where they were perched. He turned to Alan and signaled for him to wait while Jensen climbed out first. Jensen pulled his Glock and checked that they were safe for the immediately foreseeable future before holding the hatch open so Alan could join him. He replaced the cigarette pack and set the hatch back down.

Both armed, they split up so they could approach her from both sides.

"She knows you're coming," Katie warned softly but unalarmed.

Jensen pause to take a breath. Then he stepped around the corner. Eight years later and Eliza Dushku didn't look much different. She looked more professional maybe, less wild. She was still small but athletic, exotic but deadly, dressed in black leather. This time there was no hostage, no desperation, and two handguns instead of one. She was definitely more focused. He glanced at her sniper's nest and appreciated the weaponry for a mere second before focusing all of his attention on her.

"Hi, Eliza, I'm Jensen," he said calmly. "How's it going?" His gun remained aimed at her.

She kept one gun pointed at him and one pointed in the direction Alan would be coming from, should have already come from.

"Yeah, I know who you are. You're not supposed to be here. What're you doing here?" she replied coolly.

"Same thing you are," Jensen smirked.

Her brow wrinkled as her confusion made itself evident.

"You're here to shoot Gerald Padalecki, right?" Jensen asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she replied. "I just came up here to watch the planes take off and land."

"Uh-huh," his eyes flicked to her sniper nest. "With a Remington 700?"

She shrugged. "That doesn't belong to me."

"So you won't mind if I use it then."

She shrugged.

"Good, 'cuz when the F.B.I. comes to get you, I'm going to need someone to pin the shootings on, and they'll be more than happy to take Azrael as a scapegoat for a mob boss hit," Jensen explained.

"Oh, this is bullshit!" Eliza replied angrily, dropping the weapon that wasn't trained on Jensen and stomping toward him. "Can't catch me using the rules, so you're going to frame me? I thought you were the honest one, Jensen," she accused, her voice naturally husky and dark.

He swallowed. She _did_ know who he was. He kept both hands steady on his gun, kept focused on her. "I don't work in law enforcement anymore," he shrugged. "I don't have to play by anyone's rules but my own, Eliza."

She searched his eyes for some sign he was telling the truth, but whatever she found there made her smirk. Maybe she found him lacking in some way, maybe she saw him for the truly good man he was, or maybe she only saw what she wanted to see. Whatever it was, it amused her, and the moment was enough to distract her.

Gun raised, Alan stepped around the corner behind her. "Drop your weapons, F.B.I."

She swung around and fired one of the guns, trying to keep one aimed at Jensen. 

Alan ducked back around the corner, avoiding the bullets by a few inches.

Jensen took advantage of the diversion. He grabbed the hand with the gun pointed at him, twisting it until she let go. 

Eliza yelped at the pain but brought the other gun around to shoot. 

Jensen hooked his right ankle behind her left leg and pulled. 

The shot when wild. Eliza landed hard on her back and kicked upward, catching Jensen in the groin.

Unable to form words, Jensen staggered backward, clutching his crotch, one hand still holding his own gun.

Alan had reappeared and was standing over Eliza, though not within kicking distance. He had one big foot on the hand holding the gun and had his own gun pointed at her head.

"Oh, sure," Katie murmured in Jensen's ear. "After you did all the hard work."

Jensen listened to the chatter in his left ear and felt like ripping out the F.B.I. earpiece. 

* * *

## When The Barbara Ann Lands in Van Nuys  
Sniper's Nest  
Van Nuys Airport, L.A.

How the fuck did they get any work done with so many people giving orders and so many people reporting on one channel. He rubbed a hand down his face and looked over at Alan and the other F.B.I. schmuck Pellegrino, who actually had a wicked sense of humor for a Fed.

"You sure you got this?" Alan asked for the hundredth time.

Jensen gritted his teeth. _This_ was the easy part of the mission, his part. Getting everyone else to pull off their parts believably would be the miracle. "Yeah, Alan, I got this."

"I still don't understand why we're doing this big production now that we have Azrael," Pellegrino said.

Jensen nodded. It did seem like a lot of work for little reward. If it weren't what Sam wanted... "The mob hired Azrael to kill Padalecki and make it look like either Clarke or Padalecki could have been the target so no one could be sure. We're going to make it look like Azrael made her best effort."

"But Clarke isn't actually on the plane," Pellegrino pointed out.

"Padalecki's lawyer doesn't know that. So we stage bringing someone out, we stage a hit, bring in your guys, announce Padalecki is dead but Clarke will recover and Glover goes back to New York with the news. Then you guys get Padalecki for all your WITSEC snitchin' needs," Jensen said with distaste. Apparently, Sam had arranged the deal.

As the plane came to a stop, Jensen settled back into Eliza's sniper nest.

"Okay," said Pellegrino.

Jensen checked his targets through the scope. Padalecki and Glover were standing by their car. Danneel, wearing a wig, a pair of large sunglasses, and Melinda Clarke's clothes stood with Sam near the ambulance. Along with several F.B.I. agents, Katie and Chris both had their hair tucked under hats and kept their eyes on the ground. 

Jensen, Alan, and Pellegrino watched as the faux paramedics scrambled up the ramp and into the plane. Jensen knew Katie and Chris would be trading uniforms with the two agents Alan and Jensen had installed on the plane with Aldis and Steve in San Diego. This would allow them to appear to have been on the plane the whole time.

Jensen waited until the faux paramedics had carried the dummy in the stretcher halfway down the ramp and Padalecki had put a few feet between himself and Glover. He fired six bullets. He made certain to hit the dummy J.T., Padalecki, paramedics, and Glover. Glover was the only real live person he hit who wasn't wearing Kevlar, but Jensen figured he had a lesson coming.

When he saw Aldis, Katie, Chris and the others beginning their sweep, he said, "Okay, we better go."

Pellegrino nodded and offered him a hand up. 

Alan scooped up the casings. When he caught the other two staring at him, he said, "What? She never leaves casings. You want it to be realistic, right?"

Pellegrino noticed Jensen roll his eyes and said, "Thank you! Someone who understands my pain!"

"Hey!" Alan complained as they headed for the hatch to the ladder.

* * *

## Four Days Since Return  
Cedars-Sinai, L.A.

Jensen hadn't seen Jay. He'd been to the hospital. He'd spent hours sitting in the uncomfortable chairs in the sterile hall on Jay's floor. Yet, he hadn't actually gone to Jay's private room. At one point or another, Chris, Katie, and Aldis had graced the hall with him. Sometimes, it was only one of them, coming to check on him or Jay, he wasn't sure, and sometimes they came in pairs or more. Once Danni had even managed to bring Misha with coffee, but Misha ended up helping the nurses fix their printer and teaching two of them how to use their smartphones.

The first sixty hours or so after arriving at the hospital, Jay was kept in a medically induced coma to ease his discomfort and pain during the rapid heroin detox. The process itself was somewhat risky to begin with and Ixtab made it all the more dangerous. He was kept under close observation first in the ICU, then in his private room, where his mother never left his side.

"Hey, stud, you look like shit." Sam stood in front of him, hands on her hips. She was looking at him as if she couldn't decide if she wanted to give him a hug or a bath.

Jensen shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. "Hey, Sam," he said quietly.

"When was the last time you went home?"

He shrugged.

She frowned at him. "You waiting to see J.T.?"

Jensen opened his mouth, and then promptly shut it. He was, but he wasn't sure J.T. even knew who he was. "I just wanted to make sure he was okay. After everything. You know. That happened."

Head tilted, she studied him. "All right, I'm not putting up with any sulking." She grabbed his arm tightly around his bicep and hauled him out of the chair.

"Ow!" Before he could point out that he was so not sulking, Sam was hauling him down the hall by his arm like a naughty boy on his way to the Principal's office. "S-Sam! Wait!"

She didn't let go until they were in front of the door of Jay's room.

Pouting, he glared at her, rubbing his arm through his denim jacket, the one he wore in Summer when he rode his motorcycle because it was thick and good quality.

"Oh, stop pouting all ready. Your the leader of one of the top private special ops teams in the world, and you just royally fucked one of the top drug cartels, the mob, and the F.B.I. in the same week. Act like it." She straightened his collar.

While he was busy looking surprised at her spiel, she opened the door with a tight smile pasted on her face. "Mel? You remember Jensen?"

Jensen nervously followed Sam into a hospital room that could have been a hotel suite. "Ma'am," he nodded politely.

Melinda Clarke was a far different person from the sobbing wraith he met a week ago. The smile on her face, with the hint of dimples similar to her son's, was radiant. The woman before him now was every bit the glamorous movie star without even trying, even with her hair tucked in a loose, motherly bun and a wrinkled over-sized t-shirt and baggy blue jeans.

"Jensen?" Standing from the chair by the bed, she set the book she'd been reading down behind her. "How could I forget?" She took a few steps closer and gave him a sly smile. "Besides, Jay told me, if you came by, I was supposed to 'nail your wings down' and make you stay." She looked amused.

Jensen blushed.

She shrugged. "He was still a little groggy."

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Are you sure he wasn't talking about someone else?"

"Jensen isn't all that common a name, is it?"

"Uh, no," he replied with a surprised chuckle.

"Well, then, you'd better pull up a chair." Melinda gestured toward one of the other chairs in the room. She gave Sam a conspiratorial wink before she returned to her own seat.

"Well, I still have a few loose ends to tie up on this last mission," Sam replied, backing toward the door. "I'm just going to go find somewhere quiet to make some calls."

Jensen turned a pleading look on her, begging her silently not to abandon him now, but it was futile. He was left to do the only thing he could -- drag a chair up to the other side of the hospital bed and visit with Jay's mother.

Sam forced Melinda to go home for a few hours with the promise that Jensen would keep a watchful eye on Jay while she was gone. Jensen was relieved for the time alone with Jay even though the man was sleeping. Mostly, Jensen was just relieved to know Jay was going to be all right.

"Jensen?" Jay hoarsely asked. He blinked his bleary eyes. When he tried to lift a hand to rub them, the IV and the finger heart monitor prevented him.

Jensen jerked out of dozing mode. "Jay?" He leaned forward, moving into Jay's view. "You awake?"

"Are you really here?" Jay asked weakly, his brow wrinkled as he studied Jensen.

Jensen gently pushed the hair away from Jay's face. "Yeah, I'm really here," he smiled. "Live and in color."

A slow smile spread across Jay's face until even the dimples were out in full-force. "I was afraid you were gonna turn out to be like every other vacation romance. You know, show a guy a really wild time, say you'll call when we get back to the mainland, and then disappear into the sunset."

Jensen slid his fingers into Jay's hand, mindful of the heart monitor. "I told you I might disappear from time to time, but for as long as you want, I'll make every effort to reappear." Jensen caressed Jay's cheek with his other hand as he leaned closer.

Jay squeezed his fingers. "I'd like that...I'd really like to try that, Jen," he whispered. He licked his lips. His gaze flickered quickly down to Jensen's full lips and back up in a silent invitation.

Jensen smiled and closed the distance in response. The kiss started soft, chaste, and gentle: just two pairs of lips lightly brushing together. However, when Jared not-so-innocently wet his lips with the tip of his tongue, the kiss turned passionate. Lips parted, tongues teased, and heart rates increased.

When the nurse knocked on the door to check on Jay due to the alarming sudden increase in his heart rate, Jensen jumped away from Jay. His cheeks were red as he slumped in his chair at Jay's bedside while the nurse checked Jay's vitals.

Jay tried to suppress laughter as he assured the nurse he was fine, everything was fine, these were not the vitals she was looking for. She was not amused.


	8. Epilogue: Maybe We Can Make This Last A Lifetime

# Epilogue: Maybe We Can Make This Last A Lifetime

I just think if we keep out hearts together  
I just think if we build on this trust that we have for one another  
Maybe we can make this last a lifetime  
Forever my friend  
Forever my love  
\-- Ray Lamontagne ,Forever My Friend

## Six Months Since Return  
J.T. Clarke's Condominium

"Back away from the computer."

Startled, like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, Jay yanked his fingers away from the keyboard. He had a momentary flash of déjà vu. Smiling sheepishly, he glanced up at Jensen casually leaning on the doorjamb to his home office. "I was just checking e-mail." 

Smirking, Jensen shook his head. "Uh-uh." His arms overlapped, resting across his muscular chest. "I don't think so." 

From beneath shaggy bangs, Jay eyed the fresh purplish mark peeking above the collar of Jensen's grass-green polo shirt. His cheeks grew pink as he remembered his unbridled ardor last night at the dance club, feeling the overwhelming urge to mark Jensen, claim him. For once, Jensen had let him. He tore his gaze away from the sexy goodness that was Jensen before he lost what was left of his brain function.

"But I just-" Jared pointed at the monitor. 

"No." Jensen shook his head as he strode over to Jay's desk. "They can handle whatever it is without you." It had taken a lot of convincing to get Jay to agree to go on vacation this time around, but Jensen had called in a few favors; Sam arranged for two weeks on a private tropical island with just the team and their respective others, plus Chad and his new girlfriend Lindsay. With Steve flying them to the island and Jensen's own team to protect him, Jay had no plausible excuses.

Jay chuckled. He wanted to argue just because. However, apparently Alona had warned Jensen about Jay's array of excuses, and Jensen had tricks in his arsenal Alona could never use. The truth was that as unsure as he was about Lindberg and Gabe, they had received both Sandy's and Alona's stamp of approval _and_ had made it through Misha's security and background checks. He was probably most weirded out that Gabe and Misha had hit it off so well and started some sort of Thursday Night boys' club that involved talk of magic and some sort of weird code about D-this and D-that. Even Katie seemed psyched which was even scarier.

"Sandy said to thank my cute boyfriend for the care package with the Kona coffee and the goodies from Sweet Debbie's Organic Cupcakes," Jay refocused, thus confessing that he had indeed been checking his e-mail but it hadn't been work related, exactly. "Jen...did you drop in on my two favorite girls while on a _job_?" he teasingly accused, lips curling heavenward in the corners, one finger lightly tracing an absent pattern on his desk.

Jensen shrugged as he leaned a hip on the big unfinished oak desk. "I might have been passing through Kusadasi the same day their ship was in port..."

"Awww, you big softie," Jay teased, dimples on display as he powered down the computer. After Alona had gotten out of the hospital too, he had insisted she and Sandy take some time off together. So after first paying for Alona's recovery at a health resort _in_ the States, he also sent them on a six month World Tour that did not include impoverished countries or roughing it in wild jungles or deserts. Since Sandy usually had to stay at CareCorp Headquarters while Alona traipsed after Jay to the four corners of the world, Sandy was ecstatic.

"No, I'm not. I'm the head of a secret special ops team. I'm tough and manly," Jensen insisted. "Now, get out of the office before I kick your sorry, workaholic ass out." Jensen made obvious gestures, including using two fingers to symbolize a walking man and another walking man kicking the first.

Jay stifled a laugh as he pulled himself to his feet. "You're so bossy."

"You love it when I'm bossy," Jensen teased, giving Jay a heated look.

"Yeah, I do..." Jay contemplated how much time they had until their ride to the airport arrived as his eyes slowly devoured every inch of Jensen's body. He licked his lips as he stalked Jensen around the desk. 

Quirking a finger for Jay to follow, Jensen playfully smiled and slowly backed out of the office. Want and promise were written all over his face.

Growling mischievously, Jay followed, nearly tripping over his own big feet in his eagerness.

Jensen let Jay catch up in the middle of the living room. Jay was easily distracted by the darting of Jensen's tongue as he wet his lips in anticipation. Jensen grabbed a handful of Jay's "ASPCA" t-shirt and yanked him forward until their lips were almost touching. With a soft smile, he kissed Jay chastely. Parting his lips, Jensen's tongue trailed over Jay's freshly shaved jaw, nibbling his way to that sensitive place just below his ear. "Think we can come up with some less productive way to use our time?" he breathed. 

"Shit, yeah, Jen." Eyes closed, Jay gasped softly, shivering as the sensations washed over him. His hands reflexively moved to Jensen's waist, fingers hooking into Jensen's belt loops to pull the two of them impossibly closer together. He rolled his hips into Jensen's, enjoying the resulting moan from his boyfriend. 

Distracting Jay with his mouth on his neck, Jensen slowly walked him toward the sofa. Before he knew it, Jay found himself manhandled onto it with Jensen straddling his thighs. Jensen slid one hand through the back of Jay's silky hair and cupped Jay's jaw with the other. Jay let him tilt his head to just the right angle. Jensen kissed him slowly and thoroughly, licking and sucking and tasting until they were both dizzy. Jay's hands slipped from Jensen's waist to his back, sneaking under his t-shirt, palms and fingers skimming bare skin. Jensen's well-defined muscles shivered and flexed as Jay's touch absently switched from barely there, to kneading, to long fingers splayed wide. 

When Jensen pulled away they were both panting.

"God, Jen," he breathed into Jensen's ear. "I want...” He closed his eyes. He wanted so much. Every day he wanted more, needed more. What he felt around Jensen, when he thought about Jensen, was far better than any high drugs might induce. When they touched, kissed, made love, fucked, he couldn’t remember anyone else. Even half way around the world from each other, just the thought of Jensen warmed him inside out, made him smile, grounded him. “Move in with me."

Jensen went still against him. He slowly pulled further back. His green eyes were wide as he appraised Jay's expression. He swallowed nervously. "Uh...what?"

Nervously, Jay let one hand fall back to Jensen's hip and began to comfortingly rub up and down Jensen's back with the other. He wet his lips, trying to keep his gaze steadily on Jensen's face so he wouldn't know just how terrified he was. His heart felt like a jackhammer in his chest.

"Um. I said, move in with me. You know, after we get back...from vacation..." When Jensen didn't answer right away, Jay rambled, " _Or_ we could get a different place. Pick out one together, you know? I don't really care about _where_ or how it's decorated or anything...I mean, I just would like it if it was 'our' place. Some place I know you're going to come _home_ to-"

Jensen kissed him to stop him from talking. Sometimes that was the only way. Both hands on Jay's face, eyes closed, saying in hot, wet open kisses everything he always wanted to say, promises he always wanted to make, but had never been able to speak aloud. 

Since Mexico, this thing they had, whatever it was, where Jensen and Jay saw each other whenever they were both in L.A., had grown in its importance and meaning for him. It was so many things he thought he'd never have. Unlike Katie, he never had to tell little white lies about what he did for a living, or why he suddenly disappeared for a day or a week here and there. Jay already knew. Jay had seen his professional self -- guns, scars, loyalty and all; he knew what Jensen was capable of, and, yet, despite all of that, he wanted Jensen.

Jensen knew Jay could have his pick of anyone, even if he didn't realize it. The boy genius might be a workaholic, but there were starlets and boy band wannabes falling all over themselves to hang on Jay's arm to just _one_ of those charity galas Jay could never muster the enthusiasm to attend himself, always sending a surrogate like his mom or Chad instead. It wasn't just Hollywood either. No, Jensen knew those CareCorp trips were like a weekend in Vegas -- what happens on a relief mission, stays on a relief mission...

But Jay was oblivious to all of it, or he had blinders on just for Jensen, and that made Jensen always want to rush home during one of his own missions. He hadn't even realized until a month ago that home no longer meant L.A. It meant wherever Jay was.

"Yes, okay," Jensen replied, slightly breathless. "But only if you stop introducing me as your imaginary boyfriend."

Jay chuckled. "But you're like a ghost. You show up and disappear at all hours without a sound," Jay ran a hand down Jensen's arm. "You're a sneaky ninja ghost. You get into super-secret bathrooms with just the power of your mind."

"I thought I was your angel," Jensen replied with a raised eyebrow.

Jay lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. "Well, yeah." He bobbed his head. "My Angel, my knight in shining armor." Jay nuzzled Jensen's neck. "You're my everything."

"Everything but flesh-eating spiders," Jensen grinned.

Jay dramatically shivered. "I thought we agreed never to talk about that again..."

Jensen chuckled and drew Jay in for a hug. "I love you, you know," he whispered into his ear.

"I know," Jay replied with a smile. "That's what Angels in Shining Armor do."

**Author's Note:**

> I am so horrible at remembering to thank everyone; I always remember at some awkward moment like when I'm driving into work or in a meeting with my boss. Never when I'm actually where I can do something about it.
> 
> So...I really, really want to thank Mangacat for her mad video skills. We were a match made in Big Bang Heaven. I secretly was hoping for a video trailer to go with my action rescue team and she wanted to do a movie-like trailer as her art. Every time I got an email from her this summer, I would open it in anticipation of the next few seconds of added video. Might have been more exciting than my own story. ;)
> 
> And I really, really want to thank Sue (candygramme) because she really does put up with a lot of my weirdness and not just the run-on sentences and random ramblings. She pushes me to write. She helps me work out the kinks of things. Plus, when I say things like I need a 30-something Latino male within six-degrees of J2, she doesn't bat an eye. Nor did she complain ( _too much_ ) when I said I was re-editing the whole thing for the fourth time. ;)
> 
> And my Mom. This is the _third_ slash story she's read and this one, she didn't even once ask me when am I going to have some het characters. Plus, this one she learned how to use Google Docs so she could help beta despite being very computer resistant. So, I really have to appreciate that.
> 
> And I'll thank my Pug too for being so patient all those nights when I was writing instead of pug-cuddling. He's felt very neglected and has mastered the Sam-eyes look.
> 
> And I have to thank the gals at SPN/J2 Big Bang for keeping it going and providing a place for all of the creativity that happens every year to be directed. I know it has to be a lot of work and a lot of obligation. Especially for the paycheck they get for it.


End file.
